I wondered this week — aren’t memories mostly lies and alibis? So colored by emotions and fragmented snippets, so many memories corrected to adjust for a perception we’d prefer were the truth (and usually to either absolve ourselves or another person of a “crime”).
Perhaps it is the taking a road-trip down memory lane that triggered that wondering. I attempted to track down a long-lost friend a few weeks ago, which led to my paying a few shillings so that I could make an attempt at contact, as required by the web service I located this person on. She has yet to read or respond to my couriered message, but I thought I’d make the most out of the money I put into the effort of reaching her and contacted a few other people listed on the server.
A few responses back and I began to doubt my memories from the years gone by. A few pictures of people who seem hard to recognize (although the person I knew least for the past looked just like I’d expect them to). What did I remember? I mean really remember… Excuses, distaste, memories much fonder than what is probably an honest assessment…. Did I ever really have anything in common with those folks, or was it a matter of people banding together because of the circumstances that brought them together?
From what I’ve garnered, I have a 20-year reunion coming up. I found myself wondering why I’d go. Something seemed plastic about that time, like it was meant to be thrown away. I don’t trust the past anymore. Did an event happen one way or did I adjust my memories to fit what suited my psychological needs of the time?
I found myself rehashing the what ifs, was dissatisfied with the veracity of the memories and decided I couldn’t even fathom what might have been if a different choice was made.
Pulling back from the memories, I came to the conclusion that it might as well have been all a dream. Foggy, vague and filled with myriad fantasies that wash away with the rubbing of eyes in the morning sun.
It’s not that I want to avoid the people I knew twenty years ago. If I were to see any of them, I’d want to make sure that my impression of them is not marred with inaccurate masks I put upon them. A reunion in a reunion setting seems like a sure recipe for not being able to move beyond the inaccurate memories — I’d much rather meet over a round of pool and a pint of Summit, both people committed to not bringing up the past and to just see who each is for the first time ever.
Then I’d know who that person was — even if only for that moment.