There are entire years of my life that are gone.
Not metaphorically. Not in a “time flies” kind of way.
They’re simply… missing.
My twenties and thirties feel like a house I lived in for decades and then moved out of without taking a single photo. I know I was there. I paid rent. I laughed, fought, loved, divorced, failed. But when I try to walk room to room in my memory, the lights don’t turn on.
I don’t think this makes me unusual.
Ask yourself what you were doing on March 4th of last year.
Or June 23rd.
Unless something dramatic happened, the answer is probably nothing. Not because nothing mattered. But because our minds quietly erase most of our lives. They keep the highlights and dump the rest, like an overzealous editor cutting scenes we didn’t explicitly mark as important.
That realization bothered me more than aging ever has.
Because it means a life can be fully lived and still mostly forgotten.
Six years ago, I stumbled onto an idea that challenged that erasure.
It came from a simple assignment called “Homework for Life.” The idea was almost offensively small: write down one moment from each day that mattered, even if it barely mattered at all.
What is the story of the day?
Not a milestone.
Not a victory.
Just a moment lived.
We talk about living in the moment as if the moment is enough. But moments don’t last. And meaning doesn’t store itself. If you don’t choose what to keep, your mind will choose for you.
And it will choose almost nothing.
–
NOTES:
Homework for Life Idea from Storyworthy by Matthew Dicks
March 4th: Hangout with Dwight
June 23rd: Met with Dr. to discuss my blood results
Kind of like brushing my teeth… except if I don’t do it, my ass tattles on me.
