pieces of fiction

For no apparent reason, I've been thinking today about the past. Maybe it was the President's farewell speech or thinking back on 2008 or seeing the wrinkles forming under my eyes, but whatever it is, I've come to an interesting realization. It seems that everything that has happened in the past now seems fictitious. This is why people say, "It felt like another life time when I..." It's the idea that our past feels like a story, a fictional account, that we continue to tell but aren't sure we actually experienced. This, of course, is why pictures, memorabilia, and any other preservative measures mean so much--they remind us that it was all real.

For example, I worked at a camp throughout college. I have no doubt that I worked there; I have pictures and memories and videos and necklaces and permanent tan lines from that experience. However, because so much time has passed and I have lost touch with most people there (and because my campers are now old enough to be counselors!), it doesn't feel very real. While that part of my life occurred, it will never be as real as what is currently happening. And, of course, I suppose that's how it's supposed to be: the present should feel the most real.

But there are times when I wish the past didn't feel so distant, cartoony, dream-like, or fictitious. I want to remember my late grandfather's voice, the invigorating exhaustion of camp, the late-night college conversations, the feel of holding my little siblings in my arms, and the terrified excitement of the first day of teaching. And if I don't make efforts to remember these things through reflection or inspection of some sort, the past will only become more hazy. So, while we shouldn't live in the past, we should attempt to preserve those pieces of our lives that shape us so that they do not become pieces of fiction.