Memory lane has been digitized

I updated my iPhone's software this week and was surprised when I synched it back to my laptop to see that I was using most of the memory for stuff other than music. So over the last few days, I started looking through my photo files and deleting the duplicates, the accidents, the blurry takes, and the pics I won't need again - like the snap of the schedule for last week's faculty meetings so I could figure out where to go.

I haven't gotten all the way through the pics, but I did go through voicemails once I realized that I never delete those. They aren't kept for any good reason. It's not like I'm going to hunt back for a random missed call recording. I deleted almost all of them Almost all. I kept a few from people I may not hear much from anymore. For the sound of their voices. Which leads me to the text messages.

Another area I never deleted. Until today. I saved my messages from only two people. Most of the others were "hey, I'm outside" or "Meet you at 6" or things like that, so it's no disrespect to the authors that freed up that space. But the other two are different. One is starting to battle a serious illness and she is frightened. I send her messages regularly, mostly silly things meant only as a distraction and to let her know that I care. What else can I do?

The other is the entire chat history between me and a friend I met a little over a year ago. Every message between us since May 2013. I read them all today all the way back to the beginning and remembered how I felt sending them, receiving them. The entire human experience is there - our whole relationship as it unfolded. These are not messages coordinating rides or dinner plans. This is the digital history of the last year of my life. They are playful at times, concerned, angry, affectionate, sad, compassionate, informative, and kind. They are human - real. And they contain my history as much as they do for my friend. What we worried over late at night, what we did, where we went, what was going on in our lives that peripheral to the relationship with each other. There are favors and concessions, laughter and genuine caring. I read these today and remembered. Especially the kindnesses. Because what else is more worth remembering? What else could be more important?

When communication breaks down, when we lose touch with one another, or we let past differences or misunderstandings divide us from those we love, or when we lose dear ones to circumstances beyond our control, I am grateful for the ability to go back and remember when we believed each other to be special, extraordinary, to remember the kindnesses both given and received. My kindnesses were genuinely and freely given without expectation and those memories are healing in a world that moves too fast without regard for our plans or desires.

Some people will pass in and out of our lives and some will linger. I hope the ones who might be on the fence about sticking around can also remember the kindnesses they shared. I am a better person for knowing them. And anyone who inspires others to be their best deserves a place at the table for many years to come.

Songs, Psychology, Sorrow, and Taking it Slow

What started as a creative exercise last fall - a challenge to see if I could write cohesive lyrics that might fit a song - turned into a distraction, even an obsession, that occupied my evening hours in fits and starts since. I found a way to channel what can only be described as an overflow of feelings into something that felt intellectual, creative, and less intense than my life. When I showed these scribblings to friends, their responses were not what I expected. They blushed like they'd been caught with my diary. Even though I explained that these were inspired by what I was feeling - overfeeling, really - I just took that as a concept and I tried to build it into something separate from my personal life, something that could stand on its own. Still, in a year of loss, most of these songs were about longing, dashed hopes, missed opportunities, and the uncertainties of a murky future. Here's a snippet of one I called My Friends:

Disappointment I have met before

I’ve been let down, I’ve watched the door

Honey, you sure can be sweet,

But I’m going to need so much more

Yeah, kind of a downer, right? I probably wrote 15 - 20 of these until I started to feel like Lili Taylor's character in Say Anything with her 63 songs about Joe, so I stopped.  Just stopped altogether. I had  and have plenty of other things I should be focusing on anyway. I have a book to finish, reading for school which seems nearly endless, and there are always projects around the house. Throw in a new puppy and the song notebook is all but forgotten.

And then...

Life doesn't care whether you are ready or if you can handle it - you get what you get. I had a couple of swift reminders that I should not take any of this for granted because it can end in a second. So, while I was at my residency, all juiced up on creativity, writing like a fiend all outside of my comfort zone, I wrote another one called Muscle Memory and passed it along to a couple of musically oriented fellow students. It came to me out of the blue, the title from a poem in our required readings. After all the time that passed since my last lyrics and all my efforts to focus my attention elsewhere, this song reads back just as intensely personal as any I had written before.

I read back through the glut of songs in various stages of completion when I returned home. Most of them are really awful. True, heartfelt, but terrible. But not all.  I sent another one over to my friends and we'll see if anything comes of it. I have three more started, though I don't know if they will go anywhere. So why do I continue?  Maybe it is like my diary, only not really mine, because I really don't write them about me in a literal sense. I start with a feeling or a concept and build it into something that is no longer mine. Maybe it's my way of working through this overflow. Because I feel overwhelmed most days. And there's no sign that the universe is going to slow its roll anytime soon. I find that I have to think about my days one at a time. Like they tell people in AA. One day at a time. Don't hang too many hopes on tomorrow, just do what you can today. I am a battered-by-life optimist who is struggling to temper my expectations of others and myself.

I fight to stay positive for my friends who face unimaginable sorrow, frightening disease, and all manner of daily stresses. My flood of emotion pales in comparison to their bravery and hurt. Right now they need me to be their friend. And I try to move forward, knowing it's what my friends want for me. I try. They are watching me closely though, because they sense that this is not what I want. It feels like lying. And so, one day at a time. I'm balancing between what I feel I should do and what I know I should do. And my heart, it has muscle memory - still. For now, Lili Taylor is my sister. For now. Tomorrow will take care of itself.