Memory Lane

It's funny what memories your brain retains, among the millions, trillions of memories one accumulates over their lifetime.

Recently, I have been doing a bit of soul searching, life changing events will do that to you, and trying to understand what sort of person I was before my parents and the world around me molded me into what I am today.

I've never been happy with my life. Not that I can remember. For years I was plagued by a vague feeling that some terrible mistake had been made and that I was born into the life that was not meant for me. Oh, I'm sure a lot of people feel this way too, but as we all know, our own troubles are by definition, more terrible than other people's troubles. It's just the way it is. Survival instinct or some such thing.

Now, at this juncture, this particular crossroads of life, I feel there is an opportunity to make a life for myself that I was truly meant to have.  The life that would make me feel happy and fulfilled, give me a sense of belonging rightfully in the world and the world rightfully belonging to me. Except I cannot figure out what that is.

No idea.

It's been stressing me out for years now that I have lost the ability to know what makes me happy, what gets me going, what rocks my boat, what will cheer me up on a gloomy day and what will make my soul feel content. Not a clue.

How can this be?

For god sakes, everyone knows what will cheer them up, at least. Nope, not me. And I forget. If I do something and it makes me feel good, instead of remembering it so I can do it again, I forget.  Then I sit, forlorn and miserable, unable to remember or figure out what most people take for granted - a quick fix that will cheer me up a little.

It's bizarre. Right?

So, I figured, I'd try and think back to my earliest days when I was just a tiny toddling bundle and see if my memories of those times could dredge up some useful intel on my current predicament.
I gave my CPU this command:

: youngest memory; happy; content; action//

and this is what it came up with:

I am 3.5 years old and have just walked into my nursery. It's winter. I am bundled into a thick coat, scarf, hat and gloves joined up by a string that goes through my sleeves and over my back and drives me quietly insane. I'm happy to be in the warm, happy that I will be taking these gloves off, happy because....
..
...because I can see my locker (although it's really just a cupboard, it doesn't lock) and a big, bright butterfly sticker near the top edge.

Before I reach the row of little cupboards (they look little from my vantage point of observing this memory), I pause and wonder at why mine is the only one with the sticker on. For a moment I cannot remember, so I settle back, and let my tiny self continue.

She beams at the sticker butterfly and pats it gently with tiny gloved hand. Hooking her hand over the top of the door that doesn't quite reach the top of the cupboard, she opens it and anxiously inspects the contents: a pair of large, fur lined slippers sitting at the bottom. (some children have reported their slippers missing recently and she worries hers, too, may disappear. She loves those slippers, it would be a tragedy if something were to happen to them.)

Sighing with relief, the girl begins to take off her coat, hat, scarf and gloves. There is nobody around, just her. She is late (again) and has been dropped off at the door to find her own way in. It's a bit of a struggle to get the coat and blasted gloves off, but she manages it.

There is a moment of pause while she tries to remember what she is supposed to do next. Hat and scarf on the top shelf. Coat on the hanger. Gloves are left in the coat, she would never be able to thread them through the sleeves herself. Boots in the bottom of the cupboard, replacing the slippers, now warmly on her chubby little feet. So comforting.

She tilts her head at the tiny pools of water forming next to the snowy boots. She doesn't want her slippers to get wet and damaged at the end of the day, when she has to put them back there. She decides the water will dry by then (someone must have told her this before, I have a feeling this scene repeats itself a lot).

The linoleum floor is shiny and welcoming. It's warm. There are noises of play and fun calling from the far end.


And that's where the memory ends. I try so hard to remember why it was only my cupboard door that was allowed a sticker.

Was it there before? Maybe. I wasn't sure. Was I allowed it for being very well behaved? Quite possible. I was probably the best behaved child in the history of the nursery.

Why did I remember something so trite as an example of my true self, me being happy?

No idea.