戏言

They say memories make us who we are, that the past defines us, but we can’t forget to grow, evolve, because sometimes a memory can be so powerful that we get stuck in it frozen in a moment.

Yes, some memories are precious and we need to hang on to them. But Emily Dickinson wrote,"Forever is composed of nows". And she’s right. If we root ourselves too deeply in the past, we’ll miss what’s right in front of us.

Every person who has lived long enough has something in their past that must be forgotten, a moment when they’ve failed, or when they simply went right instead of left, and that simple choice changed their life for the worse, so we cover it up and forget. But deep down, we know it will come back to haunt us.

A great alienist once told me, that we must face those moments we choose to forget. Only by confronting our fears are we able to grow, to change, and to be able to face our next.

Perhaps privacy is a thing of the past. In the future, everything about us will be available with the touch of a button. Who's fallen in love, who's gotten sick, who's having an affair. Maybe it's a good thing - A future without secrets. Of course, those of us with a few more years value our privacy. We've made our mistakes and survived them. It's not that we want to keep these secrets from others. Usually, we're keeping them from ourselves.

we are told that those who ignore the past are doomed to repeat it, while those who dwell in the past would love nothing more than to repeat it over and over again. But memories, like photographs, have a way of fading with time. Some memories are so powerful that they never fade. Memories which become more powerful, every time we remember them. Thus making our present lives seem a little more faded. But let's not think about that now.

Why do we feel compelled to trace our roots? Those names in the family tree are just that...names...and yet the kinship we feel to them is powerful. Does the fact that we're rooted in history make us feel more secure in our present? But what if our family trees are more like vines, twining aimlessly throughout the ages? The truth is, each of us is related. It's just a question of how far back you trace your family tree. Deep down, all of us have shared blood in our veins. Although, individual tastes may vary. And if we're all related, then all of us have royal blood, which is why every child should be treated as a king or queen. No matter how old our children may be.

The average person is said to apologize 12 times a day. Often, it's to atone for a past wrong, an attempt to heal an old wound. But there are some wounds that can never be healed. They run too deep.
abe: Appreciate the present, focus on cheerier things.
henry: Sometimes, the people we love are the ones who anger us the most.
henry's father: There are two things we are charged with in this life, living with our mistakes and endeavoring to learn from them, to be better men because of them.
Atonement can take many forms, a heartfelt apology, a grand gesture, a silent prayer, or something more complex, more gray, more difficult to decipher. And while it's true that no amount of atonement can ever change the past, it does have the power to heal us, to restore relationships and connections we thought were lost forever.

It is often when one least expects it that fate arrives at our door. We can't foresee it any more than we can escape it. No matter how hard we run or hide, fate, like death, will always find us.
Fate can be cruel. A minute here, a minute there, and lives can be lost. But fate also gifts us moments of immpossible grace. Moments in time when we come together and connect in a way that is profound, chance occurrences so precious that they almost make one believe in the divine, that there is someone out there looking after us.

There is risk anytime we venture into the unknown, whenever we are compelled, for whatever reason to push away the safety of the familiar of family and home. And there is the notion that this impulse is, indeed, for the best, that whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Unless, of course, it does.
Committing fully to the protection of another can often engender a kind of paradox. In doing so, we are tempted to put ourselves at risk the very thing most likely to cause pain in those whom we are trying so desperately to keep pain from. Over time, however, one learns that the choices of those we love are impossible to control.

We all have secrets. There is nothing wrong with that, but we all need a confidante, a friend to share our secretes with. In a way, the shared secret tells us who our real friends are. They are the people we entrust the most.

What we try to hide about ourselves in life is revealed in death...our fears, our insecuritires, but most of all, our secrets.
The best impostors have many gifts. They can change their voice, their look, their manner. But there's a rule every impostor learns. The one truth we cannot hide is love.

No matter how we live or die, we all end the same, in silence. All of our hopes and dreams in life become mere echoes of a tale cur short. But if we're lucky enough, our stories live on. Our song finds voice in the hearts of those who remember us and loved us.
It has been said that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken, that we are only truly gone when we've disappeared from the memories of those who loved us, meaning a great artist never dies. As long as his books are read, his paintings admired, as long as our songs are sung, we may each of us live forever. As for me, maybe it's time to learn a new song. Fortunately, I have an excellent teacher.

Sex, drugs, skydiving.It's strange that the things we do for a thrill, in order to make ourselves feel alive, are the same things that may kill us. The same is true when it comes to human relationships. The people we love the most are the ones capable of hurting us the most deeply.
Our body feels pain to warn us of danger. But is also reminds us we're alive, that we can still feel. That's why some of us seek it out while others choose to numb it. Solitude has always been my analgesic of choice. But what if feeling nothing is the worst pain of all? What if the sharing of pain connects us to others and remainds us that none of us is alone, as long as we can feel?