Will You Cherish the Memories? Or Live the Moment? Or Perhaps Both?

A middle-aged man I know sits in front of a table filled with photographs. They are of his wedding, 22 years ago. He looks young in them, joyous. There are pictures of his friends and him, laughing; of his wife and him, loving; of his family and him, enjoying each other.

He cuts the edges of the photographs delicately, placing each of them in a neat stack, organized by topic. Outside group shots in one pile; inside table shots in another. They now slide easily into a new photo album, dusted off for the occasion.

The photographs rekindle memories. The man closes his eyes and sees the scenes in the photos come alive. He experiences his wedding, in short videos and snapshot memories.

And they bring him such joy. Why? What is it about memories that can make a person feel so comforted and so secure? So happy?

The man's memories, in this case, were positive, happy ones. They were of a momentous moment in his life that he remembers fondly. Simple: happy wedding, happy pictures, happy memories, fond remembrance.

And yet he is struck by how suddenly permanent they feel. The memories only came after he rescued the photos from the garage, but now they are streaming like real video, sometimes choppy but mostly smooth and consistent. In a moment, the memories, like the photos will be when they are etched by a laser onto the back of a CD, have become practically permanent.

John Lennon, in contrast, once said, "Be here now." And many of the people I know subscribe to this philosophy. Live in the moment, rather than in the past or looking to the future. Recently, many of my generation's members have told me stories about older (say, 30) co-workers approaching them with lines akin to, "What I wouldn't give to be as young as you again."

Contained in that statement are the hazy memories of early 90s parties and freedoms that members of Generation X remember they had. It is disheartening to hear them say that. Not because I fear I will sound like them in 10 years, but rather because it seems so cheerless to long for days and experiences left behind. Being here now means sucking the marrow, Thoreau style, out of each day. Living deliberately is difficult when your mind dwells in the past, essentially robbing your experiences of the present.

But what of those wedding pictures? There is nothing wrong with recalling the past when it comes up, remembering with fondness images and feelings of birthdays, of wedding days, and of nice moments. But there is something off, it seems, with longing to repeat a portion of a life all ready experienced. There is something off with living only in the past, living from images in dusty photos.

Or so I was convinced, until discussing the past and present of a middle-aged woman's life with her recently. Her past, more than her present, comforts her and makes her happy. So she remembers and thinks back most of the time, although she is not one to let the present slip away. And the same can be said of the 30-year-old, who says with a shaking head how much he misses being in his early 20s. He regrets little, he says--he just questions where he is now. He too seems comfortable recalling and remembering when the day before him seems less than satisfactory. We all need a little escape: those wonderful memories of moments, days, seconds, whether in photos or in our minds, are the most appealing way to do so.

The man continues to organize his photos, pausing often to stare at the memory contained in the image in the photograph. His sudden appreciation for that day 22 years ago will likely go away in a few days, and he will return to trying to enjoy each day, trying to avoid a rut, Thoreau style. Watching him and the middle-aged woman and the 30-year-old, it is clear that there is nothing wrong with relishing in the past. Be here now--but remember that moment, and that one, and that one as well.