By Frank Scoblete
Most of who and what we are can easily fit into the word “memory.” We are more of who we were than who we are at this moment. The “me” from 50 years ago is largely a forgotten someone with just hints of this or that of himself.
I think the longer you live the more you have forgotten. That’s life, no doubt. It goes by and we have flash glimpses of this, that or the other thing but nothing is complete. We are not complete beings. Even our scattered memories are scattered still more by time. Yes, indeed, time is the wrecking ball of our memories; it is the wrecking ball of ourselves.
True, everything that has happened to us has left its mark, although those marks might not be remembered in any way, shape, or form. I am who I am because of all those events, thoughts, and desires but they are not exactly the me of right now.
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