84
" We take it for granted that life moves forward. You build memories; you build momentum.You move as a rower moves: facing backwards.
You can see where you've been, but not where you’re going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you.
It's hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way. Avenoir.
You'd see your memories approaching for years, and watch as they slowly become real.
You’d know which friendships will last, which days are important, and prepare for upcoming mistakes. You'd go to school, and learn to forget.
One by one you'd patch things up with old friends, enjoying one last conversation before you
meet and go your separate ways.
And then your life would expand into epic drama. The colors would get sharper, the world would feel bigger.
You'd become nothing other than yourself, reveling in your own weirdness.
You'd fall out of old habits until you could picture yourself becoming almost anything.
Your family would drift slowly together, finding each other again.
You wouldn't have to wonder how much time you had left with people, or how their lives would turn out.
You'd know from the start which week was the happiest you’ll ever be, so you could relive it again and again.
You'd remember what home feels like,
and decide to move there for good.
You'd grow smaller as the years pass, as if trying to give away everything you had before leaving.
You'd try everything one last time, until it all felt new again.
And then the world would finally earn your trust, until you’d think nothing of jumping freely into things, into the arms of other people.
You'd start to notice that each summer feels longer than the last.
Until you reach the long coasting retirement of childhood.
You'd become generous, and give everything back.
Pretty soon you’d run out of things to give, things to say, things to see.
By then you'll have found someone perfect; and she'll become your world.
And you will have left this world just as you found it.
Nothing left to remember, nothing left to regret, with your whole life laid out in front of you, and your whole life left behind. "
― The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
96
" I remember at that time I went to the hairdresser's. I did this regularly, but I remember that visit for two particular reasons. The first was that next to me was a young mother with a little girl aged about three. The child, whose hair was about to be cut for the first time, screamed with terror and clung to her mother. The hairdresser stood by gravely, comb in hand: he recognised that this was a serious moment. The mother, blushing, tried to comfort the child who had suddenly plunged into despair; all around the shop women smiled in sympathy. What impressed me, and what I particularly remember, was the child's passionate attempt to re-enter her mother, the arms locked around the woman's neck, the terrified cries of unending love. So dangerous is it to be so close! I had tears in my eyes, witnessing that bond, seeing that closeness, of which only a sorrowful memory remained in my own life. One loses the capacity to grieve as a child grieves, or to rage as a child rages: hotly, despairingly, with tears of passion. One grows up, one becomes civilised, one learns one's manners, and consequently can no longer manage these two functions - sorrow and anger - adequately. "
― Anita Brookner , Brief Lives