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Faulty Cameras

"It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds."

This line is from a song that never fails to make me cry. I asked my students to analyze this line today, and their responses surprised me. It seems to me that I would have been able to connect to this idea even at the tender age of 16.

But then again, that's a memory dependent on a faulty camera in my mind.

It's a scary thought to think that I have the ability to distort the truth that once existed in the world. I'd like to think that I'm evolved enough to let the past rest on its own merits. Is it even possible? Am I--are we--all destined to shift reality in our minds?

I don't know.

What I do know is that the concept of time is very real in my life right now. It's understandable, given that certain experiences are bound by the seconds of a calendar year. The struggle, for me, is the space between wanting to embrace the seconds--as fleeting as they may be--instead of judging their value on the sole quality of how they move me closer to a goal.

But that's a story for another day.

For now, I'm still reveling in a delightful weekend filled with poetry--the written and spoken and experienced kinds. I'm feeling the pains of exhaustion that follow a whirlwind of activity. I'm dreaming of some weekend getaways to explore the world around me. I'm deeply grateful to a certain airline and its ridiculous layovers. I'm processing the passage of time marked through the lens of courthouse documents, Facebook updates, and journal entries.

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