Sidewalk memory
This is a portion of an unpublished body of work written between 2008 - 2010 tentatively titled Patterns and Paradox.
This was one of several memoir pieces that highlighted events whose character colored the early development of my philosophical ideas on identity and/or the exploration of altered states (which I found intimately tied to questions of identity).
It is a bright and welcoming day to be outside. I’m walking past the birches in front of our pillared white house. I’m on my way up to the house to play with my friends, but I’m taking my time to enjoy the weather. Step-by-step I walk the squares of the sidewalk, carefully avoiding the cracks, lest I cause anyone pain, especially my mom. Step, step, ste…
…ep. Where am I? I’m in a city—the buildings are tall. The sky is blue. It’s okay; I’m supposed to be here. Whose memory is this?
Landscapes like nothing I’ve ever seen, a pace of life that is so different. Vehicles in flight? But not futuristic. I live a life and forget everything but the world I inhabit. People I know and love.
…ep. Back in front of my house. How long has it been? Fourteen years? I need to remember this, but the memory is slipping quickly. A few more steps along the squares of the sidewalk and I remember my friends. Let’s go play.
