memories
You are viewing stuff tagged with memories.
You are viewing stuff tagged with memories.
In a few hours, it’ll be three years since Ess was born. For the first two years, there was kind of a catching of the breath after each stage: after she began sleeping more reliably, after she stopped needing to be burped, after she could sit through a meal out at a restaurant. Beginning with this birthday, it is a less of a catching of the breath and more this sense of taking a memory (“hope I don’t fall down” whenever she climbed the stairs) or a mis-pronunciation (dooDAHNdaht for banana) and reverently setting it on the shelf, leaving it behind.
Saturday night, Mykala and I watched the Imitation Game, which meant we were up way past our usual 11pm bedtime. Lying down to sleep afterwards, perhaps due to my brain out of practice at inhabiting the narrative structure of a life not my own, I found myself shocked to realize with crystal-clear certainty that my last bike ride with Ess on the handlebars would happen, and fairly soon. Hot tears sprang to my eyes and as I wiped them away in the dark, I told Mykala what I was thinking. Sharing it seemed to somehow make it worse, give it more power.
Instead of wildly speculating, thoughtfully considering, or analogically writing about life as a dentist, I’ve actually been doing it for the past few weeks. Such a disconnect between writing and experience is precisely the reason I’ve tried to make it so easy to post things in this space and exactly why I am troubled when I do not. That is to say: I don’t want to look back and forget what life was like, so I seek to write it out here. And yet, when I seem to be living the most life, I’m not writing… I’m out living. Like coming back with no pictures of your great tour of Europe, because it was too exciting to stop for photos. I guess I’m someone who isn’t confident that memories in one’s head are good enough souvenirs of a life well-lived.
Radiolab: Limits (April 16, 2010). WOW. Mykala recommended I listen to this, and it has been far too long since she did so. Last night, I finally listened to the episode and it was amazing. I loved the part about the “central governor” theory — that there is a part of our minds that works all the time to tell us that we’re tired. You go running: central governor says “you’re tired”. And it’s not like a little itch you have to scratch — this is convincing, all-encompassing, total-body exhaustion. When you feel this, you apparently have between 25 and 50% of your reserve left.
I went home for fall break a couple of weekends ago, and while I was studying for my cell biology at my old desk, I opened up the file drawer on it. In it, I have a hanging folder folder marked “sentimental” in which I have an entire scrapbook worth of old scraps of paper I saved from high school and junior high. I’ve got band concert programs, my valedictorian speech, the brochure I received at the Sears Tower during my junior high trip to Chicago, and so much more. It’s grounding to occasionally return to these scraps. I know times were “tough” in their own way during the years I gathered these scraps, but the human power of retaining the good and forgetting the bad charges this eclectic stash with sentimental value.
Two days ago, I moved out of my home for the past three years: Cretin Hall, Room 500. I moved in to this unique room during the second month of my freshman year of college. After four weeks of rooming with someone I had absolutely nothing in common with, I finally cajoled residence life into giving me the key to the vacant single on the top floor of my 1890’s dorm.
If I remember correctly (well, if my digging up the files surrounding this event yielded the correct results), it was early fall of 2001 when I did a very small part to help the process of bringing together two people who were meant to be together. Had I been there or not, I am convinced Matt and Shayla would still have come together, but I like to think I helped two good friends in a small way.