Memories of my life are filed away like index cards carefully placed in drawers, an ancient and ever-expanding card catalog of snippets of life. I can open the drawers, flip through the memories, and see the things that have brought me to this place—this point in time.
Different drawers contain different sets of memories. The good memories fill several drawers, and I can flip through them quickly, as if spinning a Rolodex, or slowly like I am engrossed in detailed research. When I look in one drawer, I can see my children toddling down the hall. There are first words, first steps, first days of school. I pause for a moment on an afternoon spent running around the front lawn, desperately trying to catch leaves tossed and blown on the wind. The giggles are as vivid in memory’s ear as they were that day.
If I work really hard, I can go back to memories of my own childhood: picnics on an old wooden bridge, dressing up for church on Sundays, holidays, and the occasion or two when I walked home from school in the middle of the day for lunch. There are memories of lessons learned, family time, and brief vacations thrown in here and there for good measure.
Silliness weaves through most of the drawers, knit into the fabric of my very being. Here and there, a memory will bring up the humor that my children often take for granted. It is an essential part of our family life.
There are memories I draw upon for inspiration. Times I was the definite underdog, but I persevered and met with success. Times I was on the receiving end of Mercy and Grace. Times when love and laughter were on my side as I worked through a challenge.
The not-so-positive memories are in a drawer of their own, lest I accidentally stumble upon them while I am surfing my pleasant memories. I don’t open that drawer much—I don’t need to. It is stiff and broken and hard to work. It doesn’t quite close all the way, and sometimes, the memories slip out, catching me when I am low, and nagging at the edges of my brain. These memories, they chastise me for… well, for everything. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not thin enough. Not happy enough. Not. Enough.
And I work diligently to recover and move on as quickly as I can to another drawer. Because the catalog has never been a bad thing. It helps me to stay organized and grounded. And it helps me to move in a positive direction. The good memories outweigh the not-so-good memories. File away the “mistakes made” as lessons learned, and they suddenly become a necessary step in the process. Because every step and every misstep, every turn and every detour, every moment lived through every age is a tiny building block in the process of creating my life. The good, the bad, the happy, the sad, every card in my catalog… these are all lessons learned.
6 thoughts on “Snippets of Life”
Loved your post! I especially related to…. “the not – so – positive drawer”! Yes, unfortunately…”it doesn’t quite close all the way”. Sad, but true!
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Thank you, Patty. I am sorry to hear that your “not-so-positive drawer” doesn’t close all the way, either. Someday, maybe I’ll wrestle it closed…. Thanks for stopping by!
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This is perfectly said. I had to re-read it because there is SO much depth to it. This resonates with me greatly. I used to compare the unpleasant memories like a door closed in my mind, but sometimes, even without meaning to, accidentally taking a look inside and being flooded with those emotions again. As a new nurse, I am learning that every (even minor) mistake is a lesson learned and instead of beating myself up over every little thing I have done wrong, seeing them as learning opportunities. I love the childhood mentions too.. isn’t it amazing how often we can be swept away with a swift childhood experience, emotion, or thought that takes us right back to unknowing bliss. Thank you for opening up this conversation. I thoroughly enjoyed digesting this post. ❤
Thanks for your kind words, Mackenzie! What a great thought about your nursing and how it is all about “lessons learned.” So much of life is working with those lessons, building upon them, to become the best you possible. I should think lessons would stick more solidly if they were learned in life or death situations, as you must encounter in your job.
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