Why does the past always seems to be better when you look back at it than when it did at the time? Childhood days were happier. HS days were more fun. Stomachs were slimmer. Hair was thicker.

Wouldn’t you want to trade every cellulite that extends around the perimeter of your body and under your chinny chin-chin for a minute of those good ol’ days? The innocent nasty misdeeds and laughters so loud you could still hear them?

𝑆𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑?

𝑆𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟?

Yep, a round of 𝑇𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜 with the old neighborhood kids for all my remaining hair. I’ll throw in a pair of running shoes, too.

Don’t we all have a hard drive full of these memories, recent and ancient? Some may have been erased permanently but those that we treasure most surely remain. Every tiniest detail. Unfortunately, even those that hurt us big time -these, too, endure the test of time. But they serve a purpose.

For me, the good ones I recall for the times I need cheering up and to put a smile on my crabby face.

And the not-so-good ones I recall for whenever I find myself in the middle of a mess that appears endless. That this, too, will end up as a memory. That in a few weeks or days or years, I will look back to this problem day and the worry I’ve put heavily into it and laugh at myself at how silly losing sleep over it had been. Also to remind me, "Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?"

Dang, I’m reminiscing again. Must be this cup.

Oh well, as that song goes, 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒.

Cheers!

#MyCafeNotes