I’ve just gotten back from a wonderful week of reading, playing games, and eating ice cream.
And I don’t have a single picture to prove I ever left home.
I only have memories. Memories of my adorable nieces, of the lovely weather, of the book and a quarter I made it through, of the games, of the ice cream.
And there’s something nice about that.
I do like photos. I like documenting. I’ve taken many fabulous trips where I’ve visited landmarks and museums, meticulously documenting every sight I saw and every fact I learned.
But sometimes it’s nice to sit back and experience. To accept that this too shall pass. That even as specific memories fade, their essence will somehow remain – the most salient details integrated into that amorphous thing I call my experience.
It’s like a sand mandala.
So beautiful. So intricate. So brief.
And that’s okay.