Only the Good Things

The instant a moment passes, it becomes only two things: a force for the future and a memory. Some moments are too inconsequential for long time memory, and only are useful for the short-term future. Washing clothes on Friday gives you clean underwear on Saturday. Eating lunch at noon prevents you from feeling uncomfortably hungry at 3:00 PM. Other events are both memorable and consequential. Asking for the phone number of that attractive stranger could result in the meeting of your spouse. The day at the doctor where you discover you have colon cancer could also be the day that saves your life.

Yet in the convoluted set of circumstances that determine decisions, preferences, and life outcomes, many days could not be considered particularly significant, leading to no specific end. They serve, therefore, primarily as memories. There is the girl you dated that you didn’t marry. She did not scar you against women nor did she lead to your life partner. There was that summer job that didn’t end up being your calling in life, nor did it lead to the contacts that would fulfill your calling in life. There was that conversation with a friend, or maybe a stranger, that only the two of you witnessed. A broken arm that healed with no permanent damage. The summer you tried mango sorbet. The view of a valley from the edge of a cliff.

So many things are only memories.

Memories remain in the control of the mind, for that is the world in which they exist. This is a manageable world, where things can be preserved or thrown out, according to choice. On the same day it took four hours to get home a stranger chased after you with your purse, which you had left behind. So was that the day of terrible transport or of the kind stranger? On the hike to cliff with the beautiful view, you encountered biting ants that crawled up your legs. So was that the day of the picturesque valley or of the horrible insects? An hour before you dropped your cellphone in the toilet, an old friend called to remind you of how much you mean to her. Was that the day of the lost cellphone or the sweet call? Whatever you remember becomes the record for what happened. A string of bad memories is a series of bad days, a collection of good memories is a life prone to luck.

A mind full of bad memories is nearly the same as having nothing good happen at all. A mind full of good ones negates the importance of any unfortunate occurrences.

“You only remember the good things,” my student Elisa told me once, as if this were a general truth for human kind. For me, I decided it would be.