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Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Years Mean Nothing?

I've written on this subject before, so consider this another witness to how consistent my philosophies are... or rather how unoriginal I am at the moment.
Sitting in a waiting room of a children's clinic and having forgotten to bring a Calvin and Hobbes along to keep me occupied, I shuffled around in my car to try and find some reading material to keep me entertained. Wouldn't you know I had my old journals in there from 2004 to 2008, documenting most of my time in Provo and on the mission. I read a few entries before I had to put the thing down in disgust.
How pointless! How juvenile! How vague and circumstantial! I felt like I should destroy the two or three notebooks of handwritten events in order to destroy any evidence that I was ever such a terrible writer and philosopher!
Again it reinforces the idea that living in the present is so much better than wishing for the past. Even as I went to go pick the kids up from the very same elementary school I attended as a youngling, I hardly felt nostalgic. The smell of that place never changes, and smell brings back memories like no other sense, but it only twinged my nostalgic heartstrings. I am glad I am here now, with all the added responsibilities, expectations, and disappointments of life.
Memories are nice, but only to be remembered and not relived and stuff.

2 comments:

imemary said...

I love looking through my old journals, but definitely not because I wish to be back in those times. Many of the entries are horribly embarrassing, in fact. I am so much more awesome now.

Laurel said...

that's exactly why i hate writing in a journal. i always feel like my past self was so ridiculous. it's cute when you're 8, but when you read teenage years, it's almost painful.