More than anything, my memory is full of people.
It's to be expected -- I am, after all, 57 years old. But all the best memories I have involve people. It's as if the memories I have of work, of time spent alone, have faded away, and what is left are the stories of people I have known. The gatherings to watch Star Trek and the flirtations that ensued, the time I ate popovers with a gathering of neighbors, getting stuck in the elevator with my wedding party. All of these are years past, sometimes many years past.
Even random encounters with people stay in my mind longer than solitude. The guys in the supermarket who said "Pizza is serious business, ma'am" thirty-some years ago. The autumn day when a young man got on the bus, bedraggled by rain, dazzling in his long-haired beauty.
I have been alone more often than not lately, in part due to COVID. At work, we stay in our offices unless we teach. I have done little more than wave at people in the hallways. I only sometimes go to my neighborhood cafe, and there are no football games or campus gatherings this semester. So I have been building fewer important memories.
I talked to a friend yesterday over the phone, and some of those old memories started replaying. I believe we've known each other for 30 years at this point; it doesn't feel that long ago.
I don't feel so old that I must rely on memory to sustain me. I need to make more memories in this place that I am now. By that, I don't mean Maryville, MO, but this particular point in time, at this particular age, when I have grown up enough not to be trapped by dizzying crushes. What moments will I make now that I will carry into the future?
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