Welcome to my Memory.

It may seem strange that at twenty one I finally feel the need to record my own reality. I have come to a simple conclusion in regards to why: I am terrified and obsessed with the passage of time. I'm aware that this is a very stupid fear to have seeing as I can't do a damn thing about it, but it doesn't stop me from feeling the way I do. I get panicked and scared when I can't remember how I felt when I was fourteen, what was my world view at seventeen, how I played and lived in make-believe at eight, or even the casual conversations of the classroom that I have experienced for all of my years as a pupil.

Before I decided to commit myself to a life of poverty (ie. acting) I was also considering being an impoverished historian because I have always adored history. This past weekend, driving across the country, I always smile when I see rows of trees along a driveway. Its a strange thing to love, but the idea that hundreds of years ago someone started to make that scrap of land their home and they carefully planted trees at their entrance gives me a beautiful sense of the longegivty of the world, and how the act of planting a tree, or simply personal creation, can last far after you're gone, but the memory of your act continues to exist and hold your humanity to the earth, despite inevitable death. I have realized in the past week that my love of history, and my strange close emotional tie to the human spirit is connected to my paranoia in regards to the passage of my own short amount of time.

That being said, it makes perfect sense that at twenty one, with the countdown to adulthood on, I am beginning to panic. In this short time, how can I live all of the lives I imagined for myself all those years ago. How can I choose where to be, what to do, how to live, when I want to be do and live so many different and conflicting things? Instead I have to stop myself and say, life will happen as I'm living it. I can freak out about not being able to remember things all I want, but I can't change that aspect of reality. There's no stopping the passage of time. I have to embrace and adore the idea of the future as much as I do the past. That being said, I'm not there yet.

And maybe if I write everything do, I'll start to remember more... and wouldn't that be nice.