Memories and The Little Things

Oscar Wilde once said that, “memory is the diary we all carry about with us.” That being true, memories are even more than just diaries because if they were just those then the new pages of our lives would let older ones fade away. What is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time is that memories are not diaries we can stuff under a bed and re-open after years, or burn away, or re-write. Memories are always so easy to remember but they are also so hard to forget. This is the blessing and curse of it all.

Growing up, I was convinced that I needed to be the strong one, the noble and heroic young man that never shed emotion. Yet, as I have aged, emotions tend to run deeper, they become more profound, and they are evoked unexpectedly. The easiest way such emotion comes out is through the remembrance of past times, moments that are held dear, and in dreams that seem too realistic. Given all that those around me and I endure, whether it is stress, fear, or loss, we find comfort in our memories and re-imaginings of the things and people we loved.

After an already hectic week back at school full of chaos and unwelcomed stress, one night I was getting a nice bowl of Captain Crunch cereal (the perfect childhood treat if you don’t mind me saying so myself) and I turned to walk to a register. As I did so, I caught a quick whiff of a gentleman’s cologne that I instantly recognized. Ever since I was a young kid my grandfather, Pop, always used to wear a very specific cologne that is still difficult to explain today but I knew that the guy was wearing it, or at least something extremely close to it. It was a simple pass-by that instantly made me turn my head back impulsively at the thought that my grandfather might possibly have been in the room. Unfortunately, my grandfather was not magically reincarnated or smiling in front of me. Instead, I was standing alone, in the middle of the dining hall, looking at a guy with a long stare and a grin on my face. I think we can all imagine the ridiculousness of the situation and hopefully, laugh at it too.

As strange as I probably appeared, I more importantly was re-living a memory, being touched with a scent that tickled my noise the same way it did years ago. That is the beauty of memories, they are made and they are re-lived in one form or another. It is the smell of a cologne that reminds you of someone you lost, a laugh that is as loud as that of a family friend’s, or a child’s embrace that makes you recognize the beauty of your own childhood innocence. It was a little smell—a little touch—a little thing that made me cherish a memory of a great man and recognize that spirits do indeed live on.

We can never forget our memories; it is both a blessing and a curse. No matter how long ago we experience something great or moving, those memories always find a way to resurface in our lives. I have realized that a lot more these days, especially when my friends and brothers continue to show me their love and when they too are enduring hardships at the same time. Memories never succumb to fading away. So to you Mr. Wilde, yes, memories are certainly diaries, but the covers never seem to stay closed. What is important then is to make sure we make plenty of memories, specifically good ones, to make us never want to close the diary anyway. The little things are the greatest memories and I am realizing that a lot more. So be a kind writer in your own diaries and recognize those little things too; they may take your breath away some day. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M