Woke up this morning-several times, actually-and just wanted to sink deeper into the covers, as though they’d shield me from the world, make it all go away. Then I remembered that I’m not 10 years old, so I got up.
Feeling adrift, feeling like I’m floating along some ephemeral track circling real life. Moments with friends, moments of sheer beauty with a real beauty, moments with family...moments become memories as soon as they’re over. The struggle is not to dwell on memories, but rather to work toward creating more moments.
But then, isn’t life just a series of moments? Great moments, awful moments. Moments that become snapshots of memories, the memories themselves stretching and taking on a life of their own, a heightened glow of days made perfect only through the lens of hindsight. You can appreciate them, but you cannot live in them. There is no going back, ever.
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