At a conference over a decade ago, I had the chance to hear Lisa Quinn, author of Life is Too Short to Fold Fitted Sheets, share her journey from perfectionist to, well, not a perfectionist. And she said something that has stayed with me for almost 14 years: "Making memories is messy."
I've come back to that thought time and again, as my kids trash the kitchen making brownies, my dog tracks mud into the living room, and the floor of my car becomes covered with sand. Making memories is messy.
I've always been fascinated by memories. Why is it that some things get encoded into our brains while other things don't? How is it that two people can experience the same thing yet remember it so differently? Why do we remember the highs and the lows but not the beautiful everyday experiences that make up the vast, vast majority of our lives? And, perhaps the most existential of them all … without our memories, are we really us?