Why does the brain remember a ten-year-old workplace mortification in perfect detail, but let the sweet, quiet archives of a lifelong friendship blur at the edges? A rattling bathroom door handle sends me down the rabbit hole of how our minds catalog the moments that make us.
Tag: memory
I am 48
Today I am 48, and I no longer feel like I am becoming someone new so much as returning to myself. This is a reflection on memory, identity, and the many versions of who we become before we learn how to come home again.
