Do You Keep Up With Your Old Loves?

Why we all wonder about paths not taken.

By

Marilyn Katzman

 
Published May 27, 2026
Illustration of an older adult standing beside a very large book shaped like a human profile
Kiersten Essenpreis

Imagine my surprise, and perhaps dismay, when I opened the newspaper to find a review for The Mothers I Might Have Had by Caroline Furneaux. This new book is written by a daughter who came across her father’s photos of past romances. I was startled to think that someone had focused on a topic long brewing in the back of my mind — what to do with my photos of old boyfriends, still stored in various shoeboxes and scrapbooks.

I realized that because the author’s father was deceased, he wouldn’t have to explain why he still had these pics, leaving his daughter to ponder the possibilities, good and bad, of what could have been. Are my photos of old beaus to be saved or discarded? Can, or should, we be thinking about past romances, especially when happily married now to someone who’s not in the collection?

I know what has stopped me in the past. What would my children say if they saw I still had these photos in my possession? Moments from college, camps, travels and more. Would they think I was popular? Hip? Cool? Maybe even attractive? Wishful thinking, but what if they wondered if I had been too flirty? Still, they’re from a time before wrinkles and worries, and I must admit I get a kick out of reviewing the way I looked a lifetime ago.

In anticipation of an upcoming move, it may be a timely question to decide what to do with those photo albums I’ve kept for decades. Should they keep moving with me from place to place as they did when I’ve gone from an apartment to a house, then back again to an apartment after downsizing?

Would my family really be pleased to know old boyfriends still linger in physical images and mental memories? Too late to do a book — it’s already been done.

One friend recently asked why I didn’t just throw these things away. It’s simple: when I come across a photo, it triggers memories that would otherwise certainly be unretrievable. It’s like the feeling that arises when you hear a song from your younger days. Where was I that day? Was I happy? Did we see a future, or was it a fling?

I can relate to a popular song by Adele in which she sings, “Let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were.” There’s no question that old photos keep us frozen in time.

In one photo that remains in a paper frame, my date and I are posed before a fancy event — a prom, or was it a military ball? Are those Grecian curls atop my head? While I would give anything to fit into that dress if it still existed, I must ask myself why I still have this memento. If I really think about it, this person broke up with me soon after the event, causing days of distress. That should make it an easy toss; no need to recall that hairstyle or the tears that followed.

And if that’s the criteria — old flames who didn’t last — I should be able to quickly dump a bunch of pics. Even Ringo Starr has lamented in his song “Photograph”: “Every time I see your face, it reminds me of the places we used to go; but all I’ve got is a photograph.”

 I must confess to having searched on the Internet to see what these old flames might be up to — some might call it stalking. I call it curiosity. Of course, there’s no evidence of any old beaus thinking of me. And an unfortunate reality check occurred when I found that some of them had passed.

Nora Ephron writes in her bestseller I Feel Bad About My Neck about a friend who, on his deathbed, asked for a folder of old love letters. Pondering her own history, Ephron speculates that if she found such love letters and sent them back to their writers, the men would be mystified. “I haven’t heard from any of these men in years, and on the evidence, they all seem to have done a good job of getting over me.”

Margareta Magnusson, author of the somewhat morbidly titled The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, wrote about a kind of decluttering as one nears the end of life so family members are not left with that burden. When dealing with difficult items like photos or letters, she asked, “Would anyone I know be happier if I save this? Before it goes into the shredder, I have had a moment to reflect on the event and feelings, good or bad, and to know that it has been a part of my story and my life.”

Should I feel guilty with a twinge of jealousy when hearing a name not spoken aloud in ages — that old boyfriend who built a celebrity career and a life with someone else? I can’t help wondering about paths not taken when options felt endless. Surely, some people would advise me to throw everything out and move on, but I suspect at least some would empathize with those memories.

Every once in a while, it’s fun to reminisce and be nostalgic, even if both good and bad memories exist. There’s one thing I’m sure of — the past was a journey, and my life with my family is the joyful destination.

Marilyn Katzman is a retired teacher and PR consultant, now focused on freelance opportunities. She has been published in Bergen County Magazine, The New York Times and The Ethel. She has been married for 56 years!