“Memory is the place where our vanished days secretly gather,” writes John O’Donohue in his novel Beauty. I love this image of a place where my past surreptitiously gathers under a personal hashtag dynamically informing my evolving identity. It’s like hosting a well-balanced Facebook page where both the good and bad are accurately recorded. I know this never happens, but trust me, my deeds are all recorded on some divine hard drive. Maybe God should just read my blog? I get how experience changes me, but the future is so quickly absorbed into the past, it is bloody difficult to recognize the significance of the present moment. I don’t think I will ever fully comprehend how my past influences my future. O’Donohue says, “All that has hurt you, gladdened you, deepened you and challenged you tells you who you are.”
You cannot go back. You cannot slow down the passage of time to make a more informed decision. Half the time I’m flying by the seat of my pants, deciding things spur of the moment, hoping for the best. Tomorrow is another opportunity to do it right or hashtag more shit. I love that quote from Mavis Leyrer, “Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely, in a well preserved body, but rather skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, ‘Holy shit what a ride!'” Once I see my limitations as thresholds to be overcome I’ve already moved beyond them. O’Donohue writes, “Without memory, you would not be who you are.” Impossible is nothing when I realize I am the only barrier to a ridiculously delectable future. I decide what to do with the memories secretly gathering on some virtual flash drive. When I look back at the 70 postings from this summer I know I am not the same person I was just three months ago. Thanks for living in the gap with me while the sun was closest, dare I say Adieu, and God bless.
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