Or it didn’t happen

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.


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