You ever have those unexpected moments when you see something or read something and a memory flashes so vividly that you stop breathing? Suddenly you find yourself barely blinking as the tears roll down your face. Old feelings well up in your chest and for a moment you are lost in what was.
Maybe it's just me.
I haven't addressed Play.Sing.Give. in this blog. One would expect I'd rehash the whole thing, talk about what I learned, and blah blah blah. But I find it was so incredibly personal that I prefer not to dwell for once in my life and instead let it lie. I've breathed it all in, held it close to me, and expelled the experience out. I acknowledged the hits and the bruises, accepted its shortcomings, and patted my own back on the successes. And have moved on.
I haven't felt the need to write. So I haven't. But this one memory shocked me so deeply that I began typing before I realized why I needed to.
Feelings are odd things. These intangible yet incredibly powerful entities that can twist you up until you feel so knotted you are sick to your stomach. They are things that can have you float through a day in a state of euphoria. They are dangerous and addicting. And fickle. They are hard to trust. But then there are moments in your life that touch you so deeply that you can recall them so acutely to the point of pain. The way your grandmother sounded when she belly-laughed. The smell of the freshly pressed apple cider and autumn air at your grandfather's house. The touch of your first love's hand as he rubbed your back at intermission. Or the feel of your mother's sweatshirt and the warmth of the kitchen when you come home for Christmas.
I rarely look backwards. It is not efficient or helpful or kind. It always drudges up questions that cannot be answered, regrets that cannot be remedied, and hurts that have healed but left scars. If it is not productive, there is no point. If I cannot learn from it, then it does not belong in my life.
But once in a while a memory assaults me. It violently throws me back to a moment that I sometimes didn't even realize mattered. And there I am, sitting in the quiet, crying. I never know what to do in those times. It's like fighting a battle with a feather duster. You don't really have a chance at winning.
I will say however, that I like knowing that things in my life have mattered that much. That people have left that deep of an impression. If they didn't, those memories wouldn't be so vivid.
I had a conversation with a friend at dinner the other night where we were wondering what all the effort and work was for. Does any of this pushing and plodding really even matter? Yes, it bordered on a little too philosophical. Sure, both my grandmother and grandpa have passed away. The first love has long since gone. Things end. But the fact that those moments, no matter how simple, had mattered so much...it gives me hope that maybe somewhere, someone is thinking of a memory of me. Maybe I mattered to them as well. That is the legacy. A memory so vivid that you have to stop your life and breathe it in.
I'd like to matter that much.
