Only if Clementine and Joel had some adamantium… amnesia would have been far less painful.
Carmelo Anthony hopefully has that sick shot he hit two seconds before the buzzer against Dallas engraved deep in his brain. Not only do Denver fans have it etched in forever, but also Mark Cuban certainly won’t dismiss that painstakingly spectacular play.
Right now the hundreds of emails, phone messages and errands demanding attention tomorrow are eating away at my snoozing hours tonight.
I fantasize one day I’ll awake with total command of my thoughts, or the digressions or derivatives, the random flurries of nonsense that fall and sneeze on each other while I’m trying to be productive at the magazine. I'll reach over to hit my alarm and, WHAM discover this pre-programmed remote control, user-friendly buttons, to easily switch channels from friends to cocktails, to sports to the golf course, a pedicure and eating something awesome. Finally with the ability to TiVo certain situations I"m not in the mood to participate, and rewind for later use.
But what if the brain were a sponge, no rather, an organized filing cabinet, the colorful steel boxes from Target, or better yet, an unbreakable hard drive. So upon approaching capacity, there was an option to filter through the moments, and delete what is no longer worth reconsidering, or replaying. So instead of letting my present get burned by my past, I could hold on to the good stuff.
But in two of my favorite films, Wolverine and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, (which could possibly be metaphorical for real-time examples), each protagonist faces a similar challenge, should some of the mind be deleted, and if so, which parts?
It appears in both films that the really good stuff is eventually what both characters erase.
And the bad stuff will be left in decent condition for reminiscing purposes... to scold and teach, and reenforce how “good” things currently are. Because if we tasted the good for how great it actually was, it would be painful to know it no longer exists.
Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon.
Joel: I know.
Clementine: What do we do?
Joel: Enjoy it.
And so as the sunshine peeks over the tall buildings and floods my bedroom come 6am, my blackberry, a photo shoot, the dry cleaner will drown me. Followed the chaos will be a desperate drive in attempt to make my red eye flight. And chances are I’ll forget that I wrote this entire rambling to begin with. But chances are a funny thing …
It is impressive when an individual can leave the past in a alphabetized scrapbook, and then has the self-discipline to pull out a fading moment with only the intention to shine, buff and neatly tuck away like an old photograph for safekeeping. There are the few recollections that haven't found a home. The delicate times that can't be inserted into a labeled folder, an old drawer, or shoved into a space in the back of my brain for a particular chapter.
These are the depreciating memories taking up occupancy, the ones I expect to lose value, and once that happens they'll be replaced by moments even more wonderful. But as stubborn as they were real, these silly little memories hold on through the night, stick with me through the chilly seasons, warm me when I lose hope, and keep me awake when the calendar becomes too comfortable.
The unexpected surprises, unanticipated opportunities, the successful triumps, and the unpredictable losses. There is love, and then there is strength, when injustice took a punch, and you proved to yourself you were stronger than fear, and the odds.
Those are the powerful memories, the moments so good they hurt, and they never fail to remind me where in life I’m headed, and what has already been left behind.
