You can't take it with you is a saying that has been around for as long as man kind could speak for good reason. The title was also made into a play, movie, and book which has been able to stand the test of time. There is one simple rationality as to why that is: because the notion is universal and relatable to all people.
When you live your life based on physical pleasures rather than emotional connections with the people you love and the places you see, at the end of it all you have nothing. We are born into this world with nothing and we leave with nothing but the experiences you've collected. Making the best of the life you have is necessary in order to feel fulfilled and happy and many people seem to forget that. It's so easy to be sucked into the rat race and hustle of life that is out there in the world. You work as hard as you could so you could make enough money so that you could live the life you always dreamed of. Sometimes we focus so much on the exertion we put into those goals that we forget to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. Sooner or later you'll look in the mirror and wonder how you even got to where you are and it will scare you because this life goes by so quickly and we don't realize it until it's too late. Our memories are like diamonds in the rough in a lot of ways. Some are beautiful glistening masterpieces, priceless beyond belief and some are foggy and irregular and need to be polished in order to see its true beauty. All of our experiences have the potential to be beautiful memories, it's just up to us to see them that way. The memories we keep are a part of a stable and permanent section inside of our brains. Moments are fleeting but the memories we subconsciously choose to keep close to us can stay as long as we allow them to. Memories give us the opportunity to commemorate our loved ones and our passed experiences long after they've gone. Without them, we would have nothing and be nothing. A person is only as strong as his mind allows and if that mind is filled with meaning, he will be the strongest by far. Nowadays, we are lucky enough to have the technology which enables us to keep our memories for longer. With the touch of a screen on our tiny phones, we can document anything and everything. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter-- these are all tools which can be used to help you jog your memory at any time. Every once in a while I like to go back to the beginning of my Facebook page (circa 2006) and read the things I posted and the interactions I partook in. Reminiscing on those times can't be traded for anything in the world to me that would be more enjoyable. There is literally nothing more comforting than laughing at how weird I was and how much more mature I feel today. Without those memories, I wouldn't be able to notice how much I've grown and changed. Our history gives us our story. Without our story, our character would not be able to develop and you would remain stagnant in your place in this universe. Without my life experiences that were tough, I would not be this strong. Without my happy memories from childhood, I would not be as thankful. Without my history, I would not have my knowledge. If someone were to offer me all the money in the world in exchange for my memories, I would easily decline in an instant without hesitation. After everything is said and done, you only take with you the good you did in this world and the feeling of contentment that you did that good. We are given the gift of being able to relive the moments we choose in our brains and remember what we saw and how we felt in that exact instant. If that's taken away, then what else is there?
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The journey that I have been on begins with a vague memory. It was my first day of high school as a small and naive freshman. I had always enjoyed reading and writing throughout my life, but never really had the opportunity to indulge in my talents as a writer before this particular inciting incident. When I received the schedule of my classes for the year, I noticed in the top left corner directly below my full name was a class titled Creative Writing. Initially I thought, how could there be an entire class dedicated to one's creativity and how can one be graded on such a subjective concept? This class, in time, led to my comprehensive and eternal appreciation for the art of literature.
Before high school, I had never really given a second thought to book bearing or composition. I would be assigned book reports as a child and I, living up to my lazy persona, would simply read the first and last page of the book and summarize accordingly. I was never aware of what books did for a person or the excitement reading necessitated. I would mindlessly watch television and movies and neglect the stack of disregarded dust collectors, formally known as books, in my closet. My mother tried to persuade me to be fond of reading as a child. She purchased the first Harry Potter book for me when I was around 12 years old and made a deal with me that I will never forget. If I read the whole book, she would take me to see the magical movie that had come out that month. I read the first few chapters, but, sooner or later, my undiagnosed ADD kicked in and just like that, I had given up on my assignment. The only problem was, I really wanted to see this movie that all of my friends had seen already. I then went to my best friend at the time (which was my bulky desktop computer) and searched for the synopsis of the book online. I studied the outline and recited it to my mother down pat which led to our family outing to the movies that weekend. When I finally had my first day of classes in ninth grade, we had our creative writing class. That is when everything had changed for me. I was eager to see what the class was all about as a young and potentially creative teenager. Mr. Sheridan, the teacher of the class, stood still and silent in front of the classroom filled with judgmental adolescents. We all looked at each other with uncertainty; we had no idea what was transpiring. He then, without hesitation, grabbed the chair from behind his desk and shoved it loudly and forcefully against the wall of the classroom and exclaimed, "Write!" Some students just sat at their desks cracking giggles and smirks, some sat still, stultified, and others (including myself) began to formulate words and sentences into our clean and crisp new notebooks. It was creativity at it's finest. In what had seemed like five minutes, I induced cramps in my wrist writing what I had believed to be the most unique piece I had ever written. When the class bell rang indicating it was over, we handed in our journals to be reviewed. For the first time in my life, I didn't care about the grade I would be receiving; I knew that what I had just done was good and I didn't need anyone to confirm that for me. That year, with the significant direction from extraordinary teachers that I will never forget, I started my pursuit to literary greatness. Without the knowledge that I have obtained over the years through literature such as great novels, classic plays, and modern stories, I would not be the person that sits before this computer today. I would not be as permissive and my understanding of the world around me would be deemed inadequate. the benefits that I have acquired throughout my life attributable to reading and writing are innumerable. I am so thankful to those who influenced this journey for me because without it, life would seem bleak. I know things haven't even fully commenced yet for me, there is still so much ahead to experience. I am compelled to write down something of some sort at this very moment. It doesn't matter what I write, exactly, as long as I put together letters to create words and then follow that by putting the words together which would in-turn create sentences.
Every once in a while, my body twitches in a specific way which indicates that I need to get to a writing utensil immediately so that I could pen down my thoughts specifically and accurately in the moment that they are conceived so that they remain original. I come from a life of chaos and, as some may view it, despair. I do not belong to any one group people or any kind of distinct demographic. I am so diverse that even I don't know what I appreciate anymore. All I know is that whenever I do something, I do it with the hope that my actions are changing something somewhere in the world for the better. I'd like to believe that I am basically ethical and moral and if I were to be put into an ethical dilemma, my manner would uphold to that facet. A wise man who I once knew once told me that I should never let others put me down. He always convinced me that I was the best that I could be at all moments in life and that he would always be proud of me because he knew I was living up to my full potential. When that man died, for a short time I feared that his idea died along with him. No one else that I have ever encountered in my lifetime has ever applied such a theory to my being and I assume no one ever will (if they do, I'm sure it won't be on that level of enthusiasm). I now recognize that I am destined for greatness. I know that that specific phrase is extremely cliché to utter out loud about your own self, but I know it to be true so I must publicize it. I am predestined by whatever entity presides over this universe to carry out change that will have a universal and all-embracing virtuous impact on society as a whole. |
AuthorShelly; A writer, aspiring journalist and/or popular culture personality. Archives
October 2015
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