Some people say our memories are what make us. Others think
it’s important to let go of the past and live in the present. Of late I’ve been telling friends I fear
for our future. As technology gets smarter, in some ways the humans who create
and use it are getting dumber. As I continue to spend time with today’s young
people, mostly in school classrooms, I see how the digital world has
transformed the way we learn, behave and interact. While I struggle to
contemplate what the future might hold, I know my memories serve me purpose.
They remind me of all the people I’ve crossed paths with and the lessons I’ve
learnt, sometimes explicitly, but mostly just by being in their presence.
On the weekend I was reminded how important it is to revisit
our past and reflect on how events and interactions have shaped us for better
or worse. Yesterday I spent hours creating a timeline of my life to test how
far back my memory could go. I took mental note of the things I recalled which
seem insignificant now, making me question why I’d remember them at all. It was
like I’d stepped on a land mine surrounded by several hundreds, just waiting to
be unearthed. As I remembered one instance, small details of another would
trickle in without warning. One moment I’d be recreating the space of a friend’s
lounge room, and the next, thinking about the fabric of teacher’s skirt from
grade one.
It has been months since my fingers have typed without
requiring a pep talk and several coffees beforehand. But when I started to
think about all the things I’ve seen, heard and smelt in this life, my fingers
regained a life of their own and starting bouncing around uncontrollably.
Within a few hours I’d scribed almost the same amount of words required of a recently
submitted university assignment; only that took me over six months and carried hours
of mental self-torture and warm tears. I think it’s the freedom of knowing I
can write about my memories without having anyone tell me they are incorrect or
not good enough to publish. Although some memories brought back feelings of disappointment
and terror, I noticed myself smiling as I contemplated how they’ve served me
into the future.
I think sharing memories is good for the maker, as well as
the audience who pays attention. I find comfort from thinking about all the
things I have achieved and overcome during my 27 (almost 28) years of life on
Earth. I think stories of the past carry powerful messages which others can
learn from, even if that just means helping them to unearth their own memories that bring pleasure or work through pain. I know that when I listen to people
share intimate stories about themselves, it riles up emotions in me based on
past experiences which have damaged and grown me. On Saturday I sat listening
to a new friend share a very personal story about how she overcame challenges
created in her mind; her story caused my skin to tingle, my heart to warm and my
admiration towards her to grow. It reminded me that everyone has lived a truly
unique life and we all have stories within us others could learn from. In
saying that, I plan to share some of mine over the coming weeks that will
hopefully entertain, inspire and humour you.
Break a leg! :)
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