A new decade
Much like the rest of you, I began 2020 shellshocked & confused as to where the past ten years had gone. My January typically begins with some deliberation & procrastination about what I could have & didn’t accomplish in the previous 12 months, however, this year’s private conference with myself was unusually intense & immediately filled with heightened remorse. Ten years. Ten! Wasn’t it 2010 just yesterday? Wait, what was I even doing in 2010? Suddenly the tailspin started & I began frantically trying to recall what my life had looked like since I turned 25. Feelings of remorse & regret quickly began to bubble up, filling my head with negative thoughts that suppressed my brief excitement for the New Year. Any enthusiasm I’d felt for the start of 2020 was gone, carried away to an unreachable chasm deep in my mind.
In my desperation to feel some sense of achievement I turned to my resume to recall how my career had evolved since leaving college. Lo and behold, it hadn’t been updated since 2014. Panicked and suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of urgency, I snatched up some scrap paper & frantically began to write. Places I’ve visited, where I’ve worked, cities I’ve lived in, as well as the people I’ve met along the way all swam to the forefront of my mind as I raced to recall as much as I possibly could. For a brief moment, it felt as though all those memories were on the brink of being lost forever unless I committed them to paper, so on I scribbled until I could scribble no more. When my hand grew tired & my mind became confused with fuzzy recollections, I sat back & took a deep breath. Nervous to review all that had drained from me for fear of sinking deeper into my sense of unaccomplishment, I went to make coffee & to process what had just happened.
While taking my first sacred sips, I quietly pondered the thoughts that had escaped from my mind & landed upon the paper with ease. Perhaps the past ten years had been more fulfilling than I initially gave them credit for? Returning to my desk, I took a deep, purposeful breath. Determined to release the feeling of failure as I exhaled forcefully, I picked up the paper to review the memories that had surfaced in my outpouring. My mind wandered freely with delight as I pictured the chocolate box Alsatian villages we frequented one Christmas, & while reading through a list of names from a previous employment in London, I smiled as I recalled how much fun we’d had together. Fond recollections lead me further down memory lane & without reservation or calculation, I allowed my mind to casually explore the arising reminiscent thoughts.
“I’d been trying to maintain a journal for several years without success, however, it suddenly occurred to me that in not doing so, I was allowing the everyday moments that make up my life to simply disappear & all I was left with was the feeling of having done nothing because I couldn’t recall all the things I HAD done.”
Ten years had indeed flown by, but it wasn’t without making memories. They were all there if I looked hard enough, buried beneath one another simply waiting to be recovered. I guess that’s the drawback of a life well lived, I considered. The more we fill each day, week, month, & year, the deeper those moments descend, until perhaps one day we’re unable to find them at all. Unless, I thought, unless we write them down. I’d been trying to maintain a journal for several years without success, however, it suddenly occurred to me that in not doing so, I was allowing the everyday moments that make up my life to simply disappear & all I was left with was the feeling of having done nothing because I couldn’t recall all the things I HAD done.
Later that day I went to buy a notebook. An attractive, inspiring, leather bound diary with nothing but page after page of quality linear paper. As I sat turning the book over in my hands that evening, an oddly combined feeling of excitement & uneasiness crept over me. I’d always loved the sensation of writing on a blank page, especially in a brand new journal. Simultaneously, however, fear concerning where to begin simmered beneath the surface enthusiasm. Coaxing it on was my ridiculous perfectionism for penmanship & an entirely cureless concern about the appearance of my handwriting. I took a deep breath. What does it matter if my writing isn’t flawless? As for where to begin, what did I do today? I took the pen in my left hand & wrote out the date. “Here’s to making memories, & actually remembering them in 2030,” I whispered. And with that it began, because while it might seem insignificant when simply fulfilling a daily routine, it’s those days, just like the fun-filled adventurous ones, that make up this life I’ll one day look back on & recall all its ups, downs, & everything in between.