Days of our lives (not the soap opera)

It occurred to me this morning as I backed out of the garage for thousandth or so time since we moved into our house how individual days blur together into non-distinct things. We rarely remember days unless they are birthdays or something tragic happened on them like 9-11. But we remember moments and snippets of our existence.

It is a phenomenon of time and memory. Perhaps it is aligned with that fourth dimension I have become obsessed with of late. If we step out of the three dimensional linear world view of time we can fold it upon itself, or stitch together moments into a time cloak that becomes our security blanket of experience.

I used to have a pretty darned good memory. It served me well in the academic world because I never really had to break a sweat and study too much. Most of what I read or heard just stuck. So I tested well and could bluff my way through just about any essay. But I can't say I necessarily understood everything I remembered.

I have to admit that my memory isn't what it used to be. There are various factors in play here. Despite my best efforts, I am aging. And since having children, sleep deprivation and a constant state of chaos have worn have dulled a more than a few of my synapses. And I suffer from a malady typical of adults. I have way to much to think about so some things slip off the dinner plate of my brain.

So days blur together. But I savor moments.

Sometimes at night, when I am sitting in the dark in the rocking chair in my daughters room waiting for to drift off to sleep, I am flooded by moments. The rough cut of my life flickers on the big screen. It is fortunate that the brain doesn't keep a day by day log of the mundane. I'd be tripping over myself when I reminiscence trying to find the remote and fast forward to the interesting parts.

It is fascinating too, how moments can impact your whole life. Mistakes and triumphs make an endless loop in our thoughts. And each time they play they become more ingrained in our history and magnify tenfold from the original moment.

I don't want to resort to Hallmark platitudes touting cliche things like, "today is the first day of the rest of your life" or "live each moment as if it were your last." Such statements cheapen experience. I'd rather treat the moments as a touch of eternity than see them as the next step towards death.

And to think, all of this was triggered by the monotony of my daily routine.