I landed in Chicago late last night, and I was so proud of myself for how I packed, how prepared I was, how much time I gave myself, all of it. I really did it. I almost texted my friends beforehand like 😎😎. Yeeeah.
I unpacked this morning and realized I forgot something, and that thing happened to be the first thing I had set out and readied to pack. Then I did laundry, and when the washer was already locked and filling, I realized I had forgotten to add a couple things.
I used to be outsizedly hard on myself in moments like these. Why couldn’t I just have remembered that, that thing? Now, when these things happen, these little forgettings, I think of the time when I was staying with my aunt (Tía Nora) in Puerto Rico in December, and we returned from the supermarket to find we’d forgotten something. Despite the scrawled list, despite checking it twice, despite roaming the aisles. “Oh, well,” she said, and shrugged. “No se puede recordar todo.” “One can’t remember everything.” Oh, well! We then just moved on, to what did we have. For dinner, for snacks, for that present moment.
Perhaps it’s life as a series of rememberings and forgettings; remembered things, and forgotten things, and moving between things, and that can be the fun of it all. The excitement, the mystery, the intrigue. Because how gratifying is it to snap our fingers and remember something, to have it all come together at once?
(Drafted on July 13, remembered to post now.)