I’ve been listening to one album pretty much exclusively the last few days. (Those of you who know me will know there’s a lot of time for this: tram journeys, hours spent in my house, even odd hours marshalling charity events.)
When I was thinking about this blogpost, one song in particular stood out:
‘I close my eyes and go back in time, I can see you smiling, you’re so alive.’ – Switchfoot.
I’ve written before about losing things, and missing them (The Value of a Moment and, Taking Risks.) – relationships, connections to places, the ‘good old days’. This happens to me a lot, and it’s something I worry about: what if I lose the things I’m attached to now? How will I cope?
This kind of thinking could even stop me/us doing something, stepping out, starting ... anything. What if it goes wrong? What if s/he breaks up with me? What if I end up hurt or disappointed? We can start to think it’s not worth the risk.
But what kind of life would that be? One where we don’t do anything, don’t try anything, don’t make any connections or ties because we might lose them? A life spent entirely without ever having any of the things we ‘might lose’: how would that make us happy?
Recently, I’ve been making a lot of memories I know will stay with me forever. Should things change and I lose things I’m really attached to then, sure, I’ll be devastated. But I’ll always have the memories, the knowledge I was part of something amazing.
I can keep those memories on a shelf in my mind, take them down, examine them, remember them, and smile, thinking: Wow! ... I was there! I’ll certainly be extremely sad not to still ‘be there’ but a) it’s not certain I won’t be, and b) I’m glad I’m here now.
Truthfully, I do get terrified about losing things/people I love because I’m not sure how I would cope. But, just as there are no guarantees something will last, there are no guarantees it won’t. ‘Every minute of the future isn’t written...’ as Jason Mraz puts it (Everything is Sound, 2012). Don’t we want to find out?