the filter of a memory.

Making memories is something that all of us desire. We rush around and get anxious in the “now” but will later look at those exact moments in a different light. Time changes the perspective of things. Like a filter, the aged fingers on the clock seem to magically sift or wipe away the things that overwhelm us now. The late appointments, the to-do lists forgotten, the approaching deadline that keeps us up at night will fade into the distance as time wears on.

Out of high school, I found myself swinging by my grandparents’ place on Sunday afternoons. Later, with the family, I continued this tradition. My favorite times were frying a breaded tenderloin or a giant burger or ordering KFC for the family after church. My mouth waters just thinking about the salty greasy chicken with crispy hard fried batter coating the chicken legs. I can visualize the crunch of the sweet coleslaw. The huge container of coleslaw that I would finish or enjoy for second dinner later. Obviously, food was central to this memory, as we came together around the meal. But even more memorable than tongue-tingling hunger-squelching finger lick’n good food, was the pure joy in everyone’s eyes.

Grandma would listen to stories from the kids and ask questions feeding their desire to share their life accomplishments. Stuffed animals would become babies to their parents (the kids). Outside adventures seemed to take hours as they wandered through the woods in a golf cart. Inside, Grandpa would get down on the floor, cross-legged, and make voices or play with the figures, part of whatever story plot was unfolding. I can hear his inquisitive voice making a statement as he tried to fit with whatever the kids were into. Even now, many years later, I remember the warmth. Clear memories of laughs and stories.

Vividly detailed pictures are projected in my mind. The lines on Grandpa’s face from years of health concerns and what some would label “a tough life.” Grandma’s joy at seeing the kids, even during moments when the pain was obvious (only to the adults). What I do not remember is the stress of frantically scrambling out of the church to get to the restaurant to pick up food before someone became hangry. Or coordinating the day so that if anyone needed a nap, they would get it. I do not remember the anxiety that I believe I must have felt. I do not remember the feeling of weighted legs and weary hands from exhaustion. I do not remember the task lists that I was failing to complete or how behind I was on bills. I don’t remember…

The point is simple and has been said way before my reference to it. Paraphrased, it is what we will (and will not) remember on our death-bed. Such as days missed at the office or the extra hours I regret not putting in. The important thing, for me, is that I can take a memory and enjoy it. Even more important is recognizing that I can apply the lesson from the memory now. I need to pause now and enjoy the slow. I need to enjoy the time spent with people and doing things. Stop yielding to the silly coincidences that can be frustrating. The things forgotten and the frazzled feeling of realization. Everything needs to be held up to the filter of time. What will I feel later? What will I likely remember about this moment later? Like a camera filter, click the lens on and view the world of now through the view of a memory. The world is relentless and can be unforgiving in the fast pace of now.

So today, take a moment to think of a memory. Then strain yourself… strain to think about all of the things that were going on that you did not think about (and will likely not again). Now, refocus your today with that filter. Invest in your future.

All the best – Joe.

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