“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.” — Oscar Wilde
“Sometimes it only takes one song to bring back a thousand memories.” — Unknown
It’s in fact a song that inspired the title of this essay and reminiscence. I don’t consider it a favorite in my playlist, however, the title captures the spirit of this blog post. It was a popular song about nostalgia. It’s been performed by country western singers like Jim Reeves, The Everly Brothers, and Johnny Cash, and covered by crooners like Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. Full disclosure, for me, it’s the title that captures the essence of the song’s meaning. Our lived experiences create our memories.
Some memories elude us while we hold onto others and make them precious. Memories help us understand the past and navigate the future. Memories are mile markers on our journey, reminding us of where we’ve been, where we’re going, and who we strive to become. Memories can be malleable; we’re able to soften some edges and sharpen others to serve the myths we’ve created about ourselves.
At the end of the year — and today the end of a decade — like many others, I look back and review the year, to mix metaphors, take my temperature in a manner of speaking, to know where I am, and how I feel, as I am about to cross the threshold of the New Year. It’s an opportunity to look ahead and set some intentions.
Looking Back, Looking Forward
A memory excerpted from my journal (and the title of my memoir in progress) Perfectly Flawed, from the beginning of this decade on NYE, 2010:
It was an ominous beginning to my day as I realized when leaving for work that I put my pants on backwards. Now before you judge me harshly as a fool, I must tell you, they are dress pants with no zippers, or identifiable closures or pockets. The only signifier is a tag sewn in the back. Before I checked for the tag however, I noticed a little extra fabric billowing in the area of my tummy, and the fit in my butt seemed tight. Yes, I began my day ass-backwards.
Today, on the eve of the New Year, I salute the Roman God Janus, as I look back at the year behind me and look ahead to 2011. I realize too, that not only did I probably not keep my resolutions from 2010; I don’t even have a clue of what they were. For me that is the nature of New Year’s resolutions, forgettable intentions, or intentions without a disciplined, passionate plan.
Instead, I believe in the importance of an examined life. To remember, to reminisce with relish and delight in the mundane details of one’s life and the people who share our journey. To take a second look at my shortcomings and missteps, make amends and strive to change, to affirm my accomplishments and celebrate, even momentarily, before moving to the next thing on my list. And, lastly, to dream, imagine and visualize the future.
My pants are now facing the right direction and I feel ready to cross the threshold of the New Year. I’m prepared as I can be to enter a new year, a new decade and a new chapter of my life. Today, I resolve to move on with the moving on, one day at a time.
It seems that some things never change and everything changes.
Looking Back
It’s been a year when grief and gratitude have gone hand-in-hand. I’m at an age when this is the template for the future too. I’m grateful I’m about to celebrate another birthday in January, my 70th, and I’m full of grief remembering my friends, family, and loved ones who are no longer present in my life except in memory. The thing about grief and loss, is that we re-experience every death, every loss, with each new letting go.
In keeping with the theme of grief and gratitude, when I began this essay, I remembered a turning point in my life. This memory seems emblematic in that some people, some experiences, can change the direction of one’s life. I dedicate this reminiscence to Megan Campbell.
If my memory serves me, it was the eve of 1978. I had New Year’s Eve plans first, with my husband Frank, and our friends, Suey and Grace, for dinner at The Fess Hotel, now home to The Great Dane in downtown Madison. Later that evening, I brought in the New Year, celebrating with my women friends the opening night of Lysistrata, Madison’s Feminist Restaurant Cooperative. The event was more than a symbolic ritual celebration, it was a harbinger of the changes ahead of me.
Megan and I are seated at the far left table at Lysistrata. I’m looking into the camera.
My friend Megan Campbell was my date for the evening. I do not use the term ‘date’ casually. I was in love with Megan, though we simply shared a romantic friendship. Megan was an affectionate and physical person. We held hands when we walked in public, unafraid of anyone calling us “dykes.” Since we always expressed our affection for each other physically, and spent lots of time together, including dancing intimately, people assumed we were lovers. We didn’t dispel their assumptions, we reveled in them.
Like the romantic friendships of women through history, we wrote each other love letters, gave each other presents, and had our own song, Love and Affection by Joan Armatrading. Full disclosure: We never fully consummated our relationship physically. I was still married, and Megan had a number of lovers.
Megan Campbell postcards. On the left, a series from the March on Washington for the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment), July 9, 1978.
B/W portraits by Megan Campbell
Megan was a portrait photographer and some of her work still graces the walls of my home. I’m grateful for the ephemera, the physical evidence of our relationship, the photographs and postcards, the letters, and gifts that remain. Equally precious are the memories. We remained friends though we lost touch after Megan’s breast cancer and move to Seattle. She didn’t survive cancer.
I mentioned at the beginning of this story that it was a turning point. Months later in 1979, I separated from my husband and came out as a lesbian. Today, and many days, I grieve the loss of Megan’s presence in my life and I’m grateful that my ex-husband, Frank, remains in my life as a chosen family member.
Megan and I at the ERA March in Washington D.C. She is sitting on the left with camera in hand. I’m on the right.
Grief and gratitude go hand in hand.
It is an element of our human condition that we let go of loved ones both in death and sometimes in estrangement. My sister, Cindy Castro, died this year in January on my birthday. As my birthday and the anniversary of her death approaches, I’ve reframed the day. It’s a celebration of both the gift of Cindy as my sister and a reminder that it’s my responsibility to be grateful for every day I’m given and to live it as fully and passionately as I’m able, as Cindy lived hers.
Looking Forward
From an earlier Mixed Metaphors, Oh My! essay, from 2014, The Impermanence of Life, I wrote the following which is still true for me today:
For myself, I’m at the threshold of the third act of my life. I may have thirty more years ahead, or just today. This awareness makes each day more precious. It also requires me to live more consciously and with intention. Like a young child, I’m relearning the lessons of what to hold onto and what to let go. Material things begin to have less importance, while living an authentic and spiritual life becomes a mandate. I feel compelled to reach out and make amends to people in my life that I’ve hurt, to address unfinished business when and where I can, to let go of resentments and learn to practice forgiveness, to not be afraid to be vulnerable and love, and finally, live each day as if it were my last.
Other thoughts and musings about looking backward, looking forward from journal entries and blog posts:
I know that in the scheme and scope of things, I’m lucky. I have family and friends who love me, a job that helps pay my bills and employs my skills, a home that shelters and protects me, food in my kitchen, my health, and a belief in a power greater than myself, which I can’t define in words, but know deep in my spirit that I’m buoyed when I have a dark night of the soul.
What’s important to me, what I’ve learned from the experience, is that I have agency, the ability to choose and make decisions, not always about what happened, but how to respond. Wisdom is an interesting phenomenon, it’s the cumulative experience of a life lived, mistakes, regrets, and lessons learned, gratitude for the good stuff, for people, and love, and for making a difference in the lives of others.
Memories of loved ones, both here and gone, shared experiences, both joyful and not, and accomplishments and failures, inform the present and help me chart a course for the future. They are the rearview mirror of where I’ve been, and by the process of understanding and making sense of them, I can create the roadmap to where I’m going.
Intention for the New Year: On this eve of the New Year, and the beginning of a new decade, I vow to live my life as fully and authentically as possible, and when I encounter my shadow, face it and learn from it rather than fear it and retreat. I’ll remember to say the Serenity Prayer as often as needed to guide me.
I will hold grief and gratitude, hand-in-hand, in my journey in the New Year.
Related Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!
Who Knows What Tomorrow May Bring?
Finding the Light in Dark Times
Drinking from a Glass Half-Full
70 Is NOT the New 60, It’s 70!
Additional Reading & Listening
20 Ways to Be a Happier Person in 2020