I Can Smile at the Old Days

"Faux-thropologie" shirt: thrifted * Pants: Old Navy * Cardigan: H&M * Flats: GC * Belt: thrifted

When I was a kid, I used to worry that I wouldn't remember things when I grew up. I worried that I wouldn't recall the games that I'd played, or the foods that I'd liked, or the characters and stories that I'd invented. I was concerned that my memory would fade as I became a grown-up, and that the little moments that I held so dear as a child would become washed out and inaccessible. I was especially worried about this because I had no idea how to prevent it from happening. I knew it was something that I was afraid of, but couldn't find a solution to it.

So I started to think really hard about everything that I did. I started trying to focus all my energies and emotions on each task, in the hopes that so much effort would result in a stronger memory imprint on my brain. I think I was most concerned about forgetting the everyday stuff. I assumed that I would remember the things that were important to me, and the things that made a big impact in my life. I assumed that I'd have no problem remembering my grandmother, or my sister's birthday, or our house's backyard. What I was worried about was the possibility that I'd forget about the one day that I sat on the swings in our backyard and just played and thought. The menial moments, the inconsequential events, those were what I was most concerned about losing.

I recall one day, a particularly ordinary day. I decided that that was my moment to strike. That was my boring day to remember. So I focused all my energies, all my thoughts, into burning that moment into my brain, just to see if I could. We had just picked my dad up from work and were on our way to the grocery store. I was sitting in the backseat of our Subaru, on the right-hand side, staring out the window as we drove through the university campus of the town where I grew up. I remember the light of the afternoon, the warm, direct sunlight that tells me it was sometime between May and September, and I remember seeing the sidewalks and the grass through the window of the car. I remember staring at the back of the passenger seat and squeezing my eyes shut to freeze that moment forever in my brain. And apparently, it worked.

There's some tiny, eight-year-old part of me that smiles with satisfaction every time I remember that moment, because it means that I accomplished what I had set out to do. I didn't disappoint myself. I may not remember a lot of other days from my childhood, and I'm sure many dozens of days have been blotted from my memory entirely, replaced with other, more recent moments, but I can take pride in the knowledge that, when I really want to, I can hold onto a moment in time, however inconsequential, for as long as it takes.

This all has nothing to do with my outfit, and nothing to do with my day, or these pictures, or that rad bird shirt that I just can't stop wearing. It was simply on my mind this morning, and came out when I started to write. How do you all deal with memory? Did/do you worry about losing the little things? What moments from your childhood are you happy to still have around?

Title song: Cats, "Memory"