When a memory is drawn, it’s more likely to be saved eternally in our minds. I’m not much for journaling - I already write all day for work - and my drawing talents are a few rungs below rudimentary, but I’ve been using them for sketches.
More recently, I’ve acquired a crop of notebooks to carry around with me. Is there a memory attached to it, or was it something that simply caught my eye in a shop? What experience is secured to it, and if there isn’t one, do I truly need it? It’s safe to say that I’ll probably never purchase a Disneyland snow globe again.
Surrounded at home by an accumulation of stuff, I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating whether what I’ve purchased over the years truly matters. An insecure fear that a loved one or former partner would forget about time we shared together has become front of mind, the result of so much uncertainty in our lives. I’ve never thought more about memory’s fleeting nature than I have this past year and a half of pandemic life.
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