I sit and i read other peoples stories. Their words, their lives. and I think I know them or relate to them, but sometimes i realize that I really only know the piece of them that they share with the internet and it might even be taking away from me really living my life. Telling my story. What should be a way to connect leaves me feeling less connected than ever. So from now on, before I let myself get absorbed in a half a dozen + blog posts per day, I’m going to force myself to post one. A rule I’m making to participate in a community that I’ve lurked on for too long. I often feel like I don’t really have anything to blog about. But I think in the practice of self reflection I will at least have the archives of my life to look back on and remember. And maybe, hopefully, they might allow me to edit my life to be more interesting to myself. I might get repetitive and I might be boring as hell. But I’m going to post more, and rather than worry about whether or not people will like it i’m going to make sure i’m living my life and not going on living vicariously through others. I don’t want to remember 3 years ago when Rebecca’s daughter was only one, and OMG now she’s going to transitional kindergarten, because holy crap, three years from now Sebastian is going to be getting ready for that phase, and I just want to have the memory of my life like I do the memory of reading her blog.
Most of my childhood memories seem to stem from pictures and it’s questionable whether i actually remember real moments or just the stories I was told about them. I want to have the stories told before they are memories, or at least while they are fresh enough to be accurate without the fading qualities of time.
So for now, the memory I want to keep fresh for my lifetime is this:
Yesterday, Sebastian full on body tackled me. He crawled up to me in just his diaper as we were playing on the floor and just kept crawling up my body until I grabbed him in my arms and we fell backwards and we both had grins on our faces and he let out his wonderful belly chuckle.
There is no way to photograph that moment, but I don’t want to let it drift off into the ether of my ever fading memory.