The problem of getting older, but also of having a good memory, is that you wind up with an incredible backlog of all the things you have failed at – all the cowardly choices you’ve made, the moments where you didn’t speak up and defend yourself, or worse, someone else . . . a record of all the times you have chosen your fears, over something that might be genuinely good for you, despite how hard it might be.
That backlog of bad memories is the entropy, the decay in nature we are all instinctively warned about; the green patina on a once vibrant mansion, the ivy that creeps over a future haunted house.
And there are only a few who can make good with this backlog, who know how to shrug it off and move forward. There are poets and people we greatly care about who make hay with these thoughts, distill wine from those sad feelings, and do not feel afraid.
There are those that sit up all night praying for it to pass – and yet then they write a book that changes the world.
So, try and declutter that backlog of bad memories. Talk to a friend. Write them down . . . don’t let them bend your spirit out of shape.