Watching my daughter innocently playing in the sun. She’s got the garden hose, trigger in hand, laughing with gleeful amusement as she twirls and spins, sending the water droplets spiralling into the air all around her. In her cute little summer playsuit, she is so full of unbridled joy, and I think to myself – when was the last time I felt that sheer, unhampered love for the moment? A tug of longingness to be transported back to that age grabs at me; unencumbered by the obligations and anxieties that seem to get packaged up and gifted to us when we cross the threshold into adulthood.
I do, however, remember that when I was that age, I couldn’t wait to be grown up – to be able to have my own home, buy my own things and do as I pleased.
Why were we so hellbent on wishing the days of our childhood away?
A heady cocktail of nostalgia, tinged with melancholy, washes over me as I start reeling back through the memories of my youth – the ones that my mind has allowed me to hang on to. How it decides which moments to keep and which to discard, I don’t know. What happens to those experiences and that knowledge that your brain no longer cares to store? I’m sure there have even been times that I have so desperately wanted to cherish that I’ve wished out loud 'remember this – don't forget this!'.
My first memory, the furthest back the film reel will go, is sitting on the living room floor of my childhood home, watching as my father carries a toilet to the new bathroom. I must have been about 3 or 4, as the next memory I have is my father holding onto me as I teeter over said toilet, fearing that I would fall in and be flushed away.
My first day of kindergarten, pretending to be asleep so that I didn’t have to join in.
Shame doesn’t seem to fade with time, it is such a strong feeling that my brain tends to hold onto memories that involve my deep humiliation.
My mother finding all my school lunches deep in the bottom of my school bag, they had been there so long they were starting to form memories of their own. But knowing now how hard she had worked just to keep us fed – I selfishly took that all for granted.
My first real experience with alcohol at 14, so much so that (thankfully) most of that encounter was wiped clean from my mind by a dangerous mix of vodka and rum. I haven’t forgotten the disappointment on my father’s face the next day.
Shame flushes my face again.
My first kiss, soft, tender and exciting. There has never been another kiss quite like it. I wish I had known that at the time...might I have savoured and appreciated it more?
All of these “firsts” that I will never get to experience again.
My daughter comes running over just to give me a big, wet hug, forcing the present back on me. I pull back to survey her for a minute – to take her all in.
'Tell me something, my darling; if you could start your life all over again, but keep all of your memories and knowledge that you have just now, would you do it?'
She pauses briefly, then pensively replies, 'No.'
'Why not? You could do it all again, only better this time because of all you have learned.'
'No, because then there wouldn’t be any surprises.'
'Do you know what? Neither would I, because I would’ve missed out on the best surprises life has gifted to me.'
Hugging her in tight, the next surprise our future has in store for us kicks a foot out, and I am back in the now – grateful for every choice I made that got me to where I am now, and excited to see what the future has in store for me next.