Small Moments

Much of my life has always been about the big goals. The awards. The degrees. The next step for the next thing for the next line to feed my growing resume. There’s a lot to say about the expectations that comes with being at the bottom end of an upside down tree. Raised to follow the legacy of a family where the adults outnumber the children 3 to one, if not 6 to one. Maybe someday I will talk about that instead.

The problem with a life that revolves around the big goals is that it produces mostly big memories. Ones that I, to be honest, don’t care all that much about. It isn’t to say that I’m not proud. They’re just not the memories I reminisce.

When was the last time we talked about how we walked across the stage and got that important piece of paper? More likely it was about how that whitewater raft almost tipped. Or when we drank a little too much wine on that bus.

It wouldn’t be a problem, if making memories wasn’t such a numbers game. You spend your time making a couple big ones. Or you spend it making a lot of little ones. And most days I feel like I have invested poorly.

One day. If I am lucky. I will be old and no longer functional. An old man sitting in an old chair thinking about old times. And, again if I am lucky, I will have the privilege of remembering what I’ve done and accomplished.

I wonder. When that time comes. Will I be thinking about the papers I’ve published and the recognition I’ve earned? Or will it just be strings after strings of pointless, useless, small moments that have come to define who I am?

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