Life has been steady lately, yet there are seemingly fewer moments to share here. Since the start of Approximately (in 2008!) and especially since the early days of my online journal presence (2003!) I’ve taken much comfort in retreating to these pages. At the end of each day, no matter what, I’d search for something to write.

While in the short term I’d found solace in sharing and releasing, it has been the steady documentation over time that has gifted me with the continuous pleasure of rediscovering memories and long-gone fractions of my life.

In these discoveries, years later I am reminded that the present is often clouded with the notion that memory is a stain; that we will remember. But the mind’s recording, despite it’s resolve, forgets and deletes. It cannot sustain all the feelings, the long drives, the corners of your former homes.

So I wrote. For years, and mostly, honestly, to feel better.
And now, I am so thankful I have all these words in a file, the images of slow summer days, love — pain and loss too, always — all wrapped in self-reflection, a gift for the future. All the things I thought I’d remember, but didn’t. Surprises that I lived years ago.

I want to return to writing so I can keep remembering.
There is just too much that I’d hate to forget.