Category: Deep Thoughts

At this moment, I have over 115,000 emails in my yahoo account, 60,000+ are unread. This account goes back 2 decades and actually has quite a few emails that I reference to establish dates and places. If that sound like an excuse, that’s because it is an excuse. I also have a gmail account which only has 6,600 emails. I use email as a digital filing system but many of these are promotional offers that I am reluctant to delete because I “might” need them. I watch a lot of Hoarders and this is basically the line every hoarder uses as they stash yet another broken tooth pick into a pickle jar. By the time the offers have expired, I have had 200 more emails stack on top of the now useless emails. I am the little old lady surrounded by clutter, bushwhacking her way through the digital trash.

The same the applies to my digital photos. I do not know how many digital photos I have but I do know I had to upgrade to the 200 GB storage. I have some OCD tendencies and get very anxious about deleting photos off of my phone despite having two different digital back ups. The result is a phone which is often sluggish and frequently running out of memory. When I need to free up storage in order to send or receive an email I will search through my gallery and find the oldest video that I know is backed up and delete it, instantly freeing up just enough space to get the digital “city code enforcer” off of my back.

Two weekends ago, I was recording an indoor track meet. My son was in the lead of the 3200m heat and was rounding the last lap (or what the officials declared the last lap which turned out to be an error) when my phone ran out of memory and stopped recording. Not only did I miss what should have been the end of the race but I lacked any video proof of the disaster that was the officiating of the race.

Running out of memory was not something new, it’s kind of a running joke in my family that I will use up every bit of memory and then fill an sd card. It was the first time I missed an important event that I didn’t get a chance to re-do. That night, I ensured that both of my backups were current. Took a deep breath and deleted every picture and viedo from my phone. I will not lie, it made me absolutely nauseous. Photos have always been important to me, as a kid a dragged my 35mm “Tomato” camera everywhere. To this day, I have boxes of photos that I took documenting my life from 3rd grade on. Digital hoarding has only made it easier to stockpile photos.

Why is it so hard to part with photos? I even find it difficult to dispose of terrible double exposed duplicates. When I take digital photos, I take multiple shots of the same scene, trying to distinguish which of the series is best and ultimately deleting none of them. I guess for me, I am seeking to document that I was here. Photos are proof of life, our life.

After the initial wave of panic wore off, I felt liberated. Not only did my phone run much faster, I could move forward and make new memories. By holding on to the the past, I lost my ability to not only capture but to enjoy the present. Sometimes you have to delete it all in order to move forward. It will take me a while to refill my memory, I am trying to take more video while I still have kids at home who will roll their eyes at me. Maybe someday I will bring myself to tackle the 100k yahoo emails. Until then, I will hide my digital hoard from the prying eyes of the outside world and continue to keep memories.

Being a parent is a weird hybrid of caretaker and warden. Intellectually we know that our job as parents is to raise helpless babies to the point of adult self sufficiency. But it all happens so slowly. Like waiting for a clogged tub to drain, it seems like nothing is happening until the tub is empty. Somewhere between changing diapers and taking the SATs, the water level changes. You know that kids grow up but it still takes you by surprise when they drive away.

There are 4 years age difference between my children which means sometimes I get a second chance to be more present for a last. They still sneak up on you. When my kids are driving me crazy, the Elton John lyric plays in my head, “Don’t wish it away, Don’t look at it like it’s forever.

When my son was born, among he many books gifted to us was “Let me Hold You a Little Longer.” I am sure the sleep deprivation played a major role but I never could make it through the book without tearing up. I’ve always been an overly sensitive person. I used to think it was a negative trait but the older I get, I accept that this is just who I am. Having an acute sense of the passage of time, even when I was a child myself, has made me sentimental. I don’t like to have a lot of clutter but I do like to collect memories. I take lots of photos but try to stay present as much as someone who is overly focused of the future can be present.

This particular book focuses on looking for your “lasts” with your child. Sometimes the lasts are boldly celebrated with ceremonies, often times the lasts are lost like the subtle change of the seasons. Does the water level look a little lower? Is it dark earlier today than it was yesterday? I’ve tried to make peace with my lasts. I

Recently, I was keenly aware of a “last.” My son is in his 3rd year of running cross-country and on days when I am not at work, I would pick him up after practice. Many if not most times, I take my daughter with me and we go for a run or walk ourselves and then wait for him to {slowly} be ready to leave. The process of getting his driver’s license was a nuisance and it wasn’t until the last week of cross country practice that he actually was able to drive himeself home. Without me. I had spent the entire season waiting for him to be done and then holding my breath the whole time he drove us home. It was the last day that I would be picking him up. The last day he would drive us home together. The last day my daughter and I would “hang out” waiting for him to be ready. That was a lot of “lasts” but I recognized they were happening and I will always remember that day. I felt lucky to be able to appreciate those moments, even if I was yelling about stopping distances and air braking on our way home.

With this in mind, I try my best to remember that happy or sad, feast or famine, this too shall pass. In closing, a quote from the book mentioned above. If you are a parent, you will probably cry.

“I’ve watched you grow and barely noticed
seasons as they pass.
If I could freeze the hands of time,
I’d hold on to your lasts.

For come some bright fall morning,
you’ll be going far away.
College life will beckon
in a brilliant sort of way.
One last hug, one last good-bye,
one quick and hurried kiss.
One last time to understand
just how much you’ll be missed.
I’ll watch you leave and think how fast
our time together passed.”

Let Me Hold You Longer

Book by Karen Kingsbury

Since childhood I have been a “glass half full” or even a “let me get you a cleaner glass” type of person. During the Locke vs Rousseau debates in high school, I always sided on the “man is naturally good” view of the world. In our house, 3 out of 4 of us are optimists, so it’s always interesting to hear from the pessimist in the room. In fact, only the pessimist of our family is anti-jigsaw puzzle so I am going to make a sweeping generalization that only optimists like to do puzzles.

I can think of few things that test this hypothesis more than buying open-box jig saw puzzles from your local thrift store. When buying a 1000 piece puzzle, I suppose one could, remove the tape and count out the pieces before buying the puzzle. One might if one had unlimited time and no actual duties or responsibilities. Or, one could take a leap of faith, trust in the good of our fellow man and plunge headlong into assembling a puzzle of questionable origin. Our family pessimist rolls his or her eyes as soon as the puzzle with the tell-tale grease pen price marking is set forth upon our coffee table. You can hear the pessimist practicing his or her, “I told you so.”

Does buying open-box puzzles from Goodwill make you an optimist or fatalist?

As we learn in school, the altruism gene allows animals to make sacrifices of themselves in order that others of their species will survive, prosper and procreate, thus helping then entire species. When I donate or re-donate my puzzles, I try to ensure they are a complete puzzle and have found that my fellow puzzle people do the same, Thus, the hypothesis is proven, we are free to be fruitful and perhaps multiply.

Life is like an open box puzzle, you never know if you are actually going to have all of the pieces. Even when we don’t have all of the pieces, the process is the fun, not the finished work. Because in life, the finished work is pretty much the end. I like to think of returning my puzzles to the thrift store from whence they came as a sort of reincarnation. A rebirth, a new chance for someone else to participate in the process.

The only puzzle that is impossible to finish is the one you never start.