Selective Memory

You know how our memories work? I think they're rather selective.

I had a flashback today: Dallas...Children's Institute...Mom and siblings were there...Sharon was culinary specialist for the leadership team (That's my way of saying you were cook, Sharon, cause you're way better than that lone four-letter word)...and Jeremy B.

Which is what kicked it all off.

You see, Jeremy B. has since been overseas for several years teaching English in Taiwan. He's now back in the US of A teaching others how to teach English as a second language. And Catherine and Naomi are taking his course. In Dallas.

The last time I saw Jeremy, we were in Dallas. We were teaching this Children's Institute together then (with about 50 other teachers, too), and, while we taught with each other during the day, Jeremy and I also roomed together for the week, along with Ryan. I think.

You see, that's where it gets a bit hazy. I think it was Ryan. I remember staying up late at night drinking [smuggled] Mountain Dew and goofing off. I remember playing chess, I think, and making fun of little brothers (not while they were there of course). I remember that I left Dallas before the rest of my family, got on a plane, and headed back to Tulsa. Where my dad picked me up (I remember that cause it was so weird that my dad and I were the only one's from my family who were in Tulsa!) from the airport late that night, and took me right back to the airport to fly out the very next morning to Charlotte, NC and Wycliffe Bible Translators' TOTAL. But I digress...

I know a lot of things about that week in Dallas, simply because I remember what type of week it was and what it was I must have done. I don't have the best memory, but normally I can recall various incidents from a time like that from which I can reconstruct the entire week and remember it in essence.

No such memory here. I have distinct memories of the week. Brief snapshots of what took place. Events freeze-framed in my memory that now hang as posters to commemorate the passing of the week away from home but not from family.

They are: "Ironing my shirt" the night before the first day, "just to be sure I was ready"; shuttle rides back and forth in the 15 passenger van; lunch time in the dining hall on Thursday and Friday; going across the building to where "other teachers" were, to cut out paper pieces for crafts ahead of time...

The reason I remember each of these scenes (Please, excuse the persistent movie metaphor. That honestly is how it is ingrained in my imagination!) with the distincness I do is because of one common factor.

We'll call her "Mandy".

What got into me that week I'll never know. But I know I enjoyed it! In spite of the strict rules and guidelines of the TC and CI's in general, in spite of my sister being on staff (supposedly the 'godliness' police), in spite of my whole family being there (minus my dad) living in the same building and eating in the same cafeteria, in spite of many others of the teachers/staff being old time friends (theoretically, those each are supposed to carry a sense of fear/accountability/reluctance to break out of the norm/keeping me to my normal reclusive routine)...in spite of all that, I remember "Mandy".

She was hot. I mean smokin'! Ain't nothin' touchin the fact that, yes, I was hitting on quite possibly the sexiest chick the the whole state of Texas. Blatantly. Confidently. And yes, oh so triumphantly, I made my moves like a master. Suave, I was. Even proud. And she liked it. She liked me, too.

Not a moment was lost. Passing notes during training; eating lunch together at our own table; complimenting each other exclusively, primarily in the presence of others; staying up late in the hallway...alone; exchanging email addresses and phone numbers...you name it. Looking back on this now, it may all seem a tad bit elementary, even 'high-school'. But keep in mind, we were still in high school. I was at the top of my game!

But apparently, thoough I was at the top of my game, I seem to have forgotten the score, or even the plays! Yes, oh, yes, I remember the other players. But not much else from that week comes to mind.

I'll have to call Ryan to see if he was actually there. Or if it was Andrew. Perhaps he'll be able to spark a bit of my memory to recall exactly what took place.

"Mandy" never returned my emails. Perhaps she was the smart one; she caught on faster than I did about the whole concept of "summer fling". I've never heard from her since. But regardless, I've grown up just a little since that week. I think I've even grown up a lot because of that week. Thanks "Mandy", wherever you are.

The moral of the story, though: Whatever you decide to enjoy, whatever you place emphasis on, whatever it is that you deem important in the present...that's the stuff you'll remember. All the fluff is going to fade away in the aging portrait of memory.

Yes, paying attention to the little things makes life that much more beautiful, truly worth living. Just remember to spend your time on what really counts. Pay attention to it. 'Cause years from now, that's what you'll look back and remember as your 'life'.

So, go get one!

Meet a girl. Flirt a little.

Buy a boat. Go sailing.

Visit the grand canyon. Go backpacking.

Get a journal. And write.

Find 'that book'. Read it.

Have a meaningful conversation. And understand.

Boil a pot of water. And brew some tea.

Look up at the stars. Wish on the falling ones.

Whatever it is, do it...pay attention to it...live in the now...cause it's the only time you have to create your memories!