Finding a Purpose

February 24, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?
View all responses

Ever since I watched monks Walk for Peace with such purpose and dedication, I’ve been thinking I need to find a purpose rather than just living simply from day to day. (This can be construed as simply living from day to day or living simply, and both would be correct.) And that’s what I came here to say, that the biggest challenge I will face in the next six months is finding a purpose.

But do I need a purpose? Does anyone? A sense of purpose might make someone feel good, feel as if their life was worth living, maybe even make them feel important, but the purpose itself might not be a good thing. For example, a pattern killer (the current appellation for a serial killer) generally has a strong sense of purpose, which is good for the killer, but not the victims.

(I was going to use more specific examples, such as the protestors who felt their purpose was to interfere in the arrest of a child rapist and murderer, and so the perpetrator got away. I am sure the protestors felt so proud of themselves for fulfilling their purpose that they would never see how their actions led directly to more heinous crimes committed by that perpetrator. But I decided not to use such examples because I can never be sure if people would read my words and their intent as I meant them, or if they would read their own emotions into the example. Hence, my example of the pattern killer because I’m sure most of us can understand that in such as case, a sense of purpose and where it leads is not a good thing.)

Oddly, while thinking about finding a purpose, I came across something called “purpose angst,” which is “the stress, frustration, and worry stemming from the intense pressure to find, define, and live a meaningful life.” That, too, made me wonder how important it is to find a purpose. If the search for a meaningful life is such a dire burden, maybe it’s the search that’s the problem. Maybe we’re not supposed to search for meaning in our lives. Maybe our lives themselves are the meaning.

In reading people’s reactions to the Walk for Peace, I saw an interesting comment. The commenter said that people who talked about the walk and how it affected them mentioned things like the monks’ dedication, their perseverance, their kindness. But he said the real reason the walk touched people was the simplicity. Everything about modern life is noise and chaos, but then came the monks. They simply walked in single file in silence. No noise, no chaos, no bunching up. Just that single orderly line. Simple. Touching.

Although their message was peace, that the way to peace is to find it is within ourselves, maybe the true message was simplicity.

In which case, there is no need for me to find a purpose. I am living that purpose: a simple life lived simply.

So, since finding a purpose is a challenge I won’t be facing in the next six months, what challenge will I face? I can’t think of any offhand, but life has a way of surprising us. I’ll let you know six months from now what, if any, challenge I faced.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, life. Tags: , , , , , , , . 13 Comments »

A Simple Life

February 23, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I still check on what the monks are doing now that they have finished their Walk for Peace, and today I found out the head of the walk is planning to write a book about the walk based on the extensive journal he kept during that time.

That made me laugh, but not for the reason you think. Here is this guy who got up before dawn every morning, meditated for an hour, walked 25 to 30 miles (half the time barefoot) greeting and blessing people along the way, gave talks and hosted meditations in the evening.

And kept a detailed journal.

Me? I got up this morning. Period. Yep, laughing at the comparison.

I am understating just a bit because obviously I am sitting here at my computer writing this, but when I finish? Nothing but lounging around and reading. Pretty pathetic.

But I’m okay with that. I might not be inspiring anyone, but I’m not hurting anyone, either. I’m just enjoying my peaceful day, being glad I have this time, being grateful for the blessings of my life. There is grace in that, I think. I hope there is, anyway.

The monk, however, is still going about doing good. He’s planning his next mission for late April, traveling to Sri Lanka for a sapling from the sacred Bodhi tree to bring back for an exhibition in Fort Worth. Me? I might travel with a friend to the next town to get groceries.

I don’t know why this amuses me. I’ve learned long ago not to compare myself to others, but still, I can’t help but see the difference in lifestyles. Well, beyond the obvious one of his being a monk and me . . . not.

What else is funny to me (funny odd, not funny ha-ha) is that whatever I once did or once was has been lost somewhere in the past. It’s as if this is the only life I’ve ever had.

And a way, it is. I’ve always lived simply, partly from a belief in walking softly through life and a lack of funds to do otherwise. Long before recycling became a catchword, I recycled, not in a recycling bin but in reality — using things up, wearing them out, making do, and doing without. (I have no idea where those depression era ideals came from, but they have shaped my life.)

But maybe that is the way it’s supposed to be — living in my own moment without comparison to anyone, not a monk or even a younger me, and seeing the worth even in that.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, blogging, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , , . 5 Comments »

Favorite Drink

February 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite drink?
View all responses

My favorite drink? As in favorite everyday beverage? Or as in adult beverage?

For an everyday drink, I generally stick with a cup of tea in the morning, or perhaps a weak milky coffee, and then drink water the rest of the day. Boooring!

So I won’t talk about that — I’ll talk about my favorite “drink” drink. As in alcohol. To be honest, I barely drink, even though my sister once gifted me with a lovely miniature liquor cabinet, something I always wanted. (Yeah, I know — weird for a self-proclaimed hardly-ever drinker to want something like that, right?)

A couple times a year, if I’m feeling under the weather, I’ll make myself a hot toddy with a fiery ginger tea, lemon, and spiced rum, but that’s for medicinal purposes. And every once in a great while, I’ll take a nip of something in my liquor cabinet just to experience my wild side.

Though I seldom drink even them, there are two drinks I do like, but mostly because they come with memories.

Exactly ten years ago today, I camped at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument on my travels across the county. Stunning scenery, beautiful weather, congenial fellow campers. One evening, a camper (drawn by my car, more than me), who was exploring the south and west on his motorcycle, brought a bottle of Grand Marnier to my campsite. He and I sat under the bright stars with the glow of Mexico to the south, sipped our drinks, and chatted. It was such a magical experience that even today, a sip of Grand Marnier will take me back to that warm star-lit night.

I also occasionally have a sip of Bailey’s Irish Cream, but mostly, I save what I have so I can drink a toast to my mother on her birthday or deathday as a memorial, since it was her favorite drink. The glass I use is a regulation Bailey’s glass that once belonged to her. (She used to have a cupboard full of unmatched stemware. I kept those goblets when I cleaned out the house after my father died, and so now I, too, have a cupboard of unmatched glassware.)

Even considering those special two drinks, that little glass display case sits in my kitchen cabinet mostly unused but delighting me with the thought of finally having my very own miniature liquor cabinet.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: , , , , , . 6 Comments »

Comeuppance

February 13, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I’ve had a bit of comeuppance. Or maybe a come-down-ance? Been humbled, anyway.

I’d read that screenwriters are told to repeat the plot of a story at least four times during the course of a movie because viewers no longer have the ability to follow a plot all the way through. Not only are they distracted by their phones, but all that scrolling and seeing small snippets of videos, comments, and headlines has made them unable to focus. That lack of focus is also why few people read books — they can’t comprehend what they are reading, can’t keep the story in their head long enough to make sense of it.

This made me feel proud of myself that even at my age I could focus on a story, often being able to read an entire book at a sitting and keep the whole thing in my head. I’m even getting to the point where I can keep the entire four million words of the Wheel of Time books in my head, which is important because of all the foreshadowing. (You can’t tell when something that was foreshadowed happens if you can’t remember the foreshadowing.)

Anyway, lately I’ve spent a lot of time online, following the Buddhist Monks’ Walk for Peace, listening to black conservative commentators (I was interested in seeing what they thought about being told they were too stupid to figure out how to get an ID), following the backlash of the halftime show and its alternative (what I learned is that if you didn’t like either, you’re probably just plain old), and various other things.

And you know what happened? I can no longer focus on reading. I can’t keep even a chapter in my head, let alone an entire book. Can’t sit still without wanting to go check to see what’s going on elsewhere.

I never planned this experiment, never planned to test the theory that online activities shorten one’s attention span, but I sure got a quick result. Luckily, I figured out what the problem is and know an easy solution — spend less time online. But what about people who have lived their entire life practicing what I did for just a few weeks? Can they ever learn to concentrate? Though I suppose what it comes down to is if they even want to. And I doubt they do.

The world has seldom been a comfortable place for me since I’ve never fit into any socio-cultural setting. We didn’t have a television when I was a kid and we weren’t allowed to listen to popular radio stations — my father wanted us to grow up to be different and, well, he got his wish. Hence, growing up I seldom understood the cultural references of my classmates, and since I don’t have television now, I don’t understand today’s cultural references. My preferred music is silence. My preferred activity is reading books. My preferred companions are those who know how to think. So even though I’ve usually been able to find a niche for myself, I never felt as if the world was mine.

And now I know for a fact that the world isn’t mine. I might still have a decade left or possibly even two, but I’m on my way out. The world belongs to younger people. And in their world, maybe being able to focus or keep stories in their heads isn’t an issue.

As for me, I’ve learned that even a bit of misplaced pride can end up being humbling.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

 

Posted in being me, culture, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Strange Thoughts

February 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I just had a strange thought. There is a great assumption of hate here in this country, but is there really that much hate? If people didn’t keep telling us folks here in the USA to get rid of our hate, would there be any hate amongst us? Would we even think about hate or hating if they didn’t keep pushing that narrative? They tell us that love is stronger than hate, but isn’t even that trite comment making an assumption of hate? (Otherwise, why would anyone think the comparison needs to be made? Saying “Love is strong” would be fine by itself.) Even I, who have no hate in my heart at all (that I know of, anyway), find myself nodding along when people talk about the prevalence of hate. And yet, it seems as if the only people talking about hate are those who have a platform and are determined to have their say, as if they are the arbiter of morality. As if those who are sitting in their gated mansions know the pulse of the rest of us.

But then, today, it’s not just celebrities — athletes, singers, actors, newscasters — with a platform, but anyone who has a phone and some sort of social media account. And the videos that get shown everywhere are people screaming out their anger and hatred. Paradoxically, the screamers don’t think it’s hatred they are spewing; they think it’s . . . I don’t know; some sort of relevancy, perhaps.

The rest of us are going about our lives . . . not hating. Not even thinking about hate. Just living. Being. Enjoying what the day brings — for me, a couple of days ago, it was lunch and grocery shopping with one friend, an easy walk with another, and lots of sunshine. Yesterday it was watering my lawn, enjoying the last warm day before the cold strikes again. And today, well, today has just started. But it will be a peaceful day for me whatever I decide to do.

I’m aware this isn’t any great insight, just a stray thought.

Another stray thought (though this isn’t as “stray” as the first since it obviously came from somewhere, which is the monks walking for peace). There are millions of people all over the world (93 countries, including the USA) watching videos of the walk. The videos show the monks walking, but they also show the people who are witnessing the walk. People of all ages and colors and abilities coming together to participate in a once-in-a-lifetime transformative experience. The vast majority of the hundreds of thousands of people who pause their lives to watch the monks pass or gather to hear them talk, are quiet, respectful, loving and kind. Will people from all those countries see Americans any differently after this? Will they see we are not the hateful folk we are portrayed to be? Or will we all still be affected by the “hate/not hate” rhetoric that so often passes as truth?

Strange thoughts, indeed.

(I hope I’m not breaking any copyright laws by posting the following photo of all the places where people who are following the walk for peace live, but I find it fascinating and wanted to share it.)

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, culture, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Splurging and Treating Myself

February 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram

My financial advisor suggested that I splurge and treat myself. “Financial advisor” is how I sometimes jokingly refer to my sibling who helps me navigate various “grown-up” activities, such as buying a house. Despite the facetious title, his being an advisor on financial matters isn’t a joke. Without him, I would have been at a loss as to find a house let alone buy it. I wouldn’t have had any furniture. And I especially wouldn’t have a clue how to do any of the various chores necessary to keep up the house.

My advisor knows what a tight budget I am on, so his “treat suggestion” came as a bit of a surprise. Still, it’s not a bad idea, perhaps even good for my morale. Many women seem to find satisfaction in treating themselves to a new pair of “cute” shoes, but that whole “cute shoe” gene seems to have passed me by. I do have a few pairs of shoes, all comfortable utilitarian types, such as walking shoes or hiking boots, or slip-ons to wear to go out and check the mail. I even have a couple of pairs of black sneakers (for lack of a better term) that I can use if I want to appear less casual. Whenever I get a ride to a big city, I make sure to stop by a sporting goods store to stock up on a couple more pairs of cheap shoes because I never know when I’ll get another opportunity to shop. It’s a good thing, too. When I get home and actually wear the shoes, sometimes they are too big, in which case I set them aside for gardening shoes. Or they’re too small, in which case I only wear them when I drive to do errands. Those that are “just right” I put in my shoe rotation. (I find it’s easier on my feet if I don’t wear the same pair of shoes all the time.)

But a new pair of basic running around shoes is neither a splurge or a treat. It’s more a matter of opportunity.

My diet is fairly basic, mostly real foods, though I do occasionally go to lunch with a friend, which is a treat but not a splurge. It’s more of a necessity, both the company and a meal that is different from what I normally eat. And anyway, it’s in my budget.

If I could find books for my personal library that I would like to read and reread, I’d snap them up in a second (budget or no budget!), but most books aren’t worth reading once let alone twice, and any book that I don’t plan on reading (or reading again) becomes . . . clutter.

I don’t wear all the clothes I have now, so getting something new wouldn’t really be a treat. Mostly I wear old things around the house, depending more on comfort and warmth (or coolth in the summer) than fashion. I don’t even feel bad about not looking my best because I don’t look at myself — I look at what I’m doing. If I go out somewhere, errands or to that occasional lunch, I wear something nice, and I have plenty of “something nice” to wear. Besides, whatever I wear is covered by a coat for half the year, so it doesn’t really matter.

I used to splurge on hats, but I’ve reached a critical mass on headgear. I certainly don’t need more hats!

I have plenty of kitchenware, all the furniture I want, all the . . . I guess, for the most part, I have everything I want. I am by myself and don’t wear things out very quickly. The only thing I might have to get one of these days is a new computer. Although it still seems to me to be rather new, at a little more than seven years, it’s old in computer terms. But that won’t be a splurge. It’s already budgeted for.

Come late spring, of course, I will splurge, might even treat myself to a few expensive plants that I might not otherwise have bothered with, but planting season is still months away.

Until then . . . I don’t know. I suppose it’s a treat thinking about something to splurge on, but for now I’ll stick to my frugal ways.

What would you splurge on?

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, house, life. Tags: , , , , , . 8 Comments »

Grateful

February 4, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
How do significant life events or the passage of time influence your perspective on life?
View all responses

I’ve experienced many significant life events and life-changing experiences that influenced my perspective on life, but I don’t have any interest in rehashing any those past traumas. Nor do I have any present traumas to talk about since, luckily, I’m going through a rather static time right now. No major life experiences. I am still enamored with the experience of owning my own home and landscaping the yard, but that’s become simply my life.

What does affect me, and does more every day, is the passage of time. I’ve reached the age of no return — my body no longer heals itself quickly, and so small infirmities will begin to add up leading inevitably to a frailer old age than I might have envisioned. If I’m careful, I might not become as frail as I fear, so that’s the big way that time influences my perspective on life now —carefulness. Mindfulness.

Mindfulness is not some sort of esoteric practice, but a very practical way of approaching the end of the road — being careful. I used to move quickly, but now I move deliberately, mindful of where I place my feet. Too many older people have lost their independence because of a fall, and I’ve already destroyed enough of my body by falling (fake elbow, multiple pins in my wrist and forearm). I tend to think I’m still too young to have to worry about losing my independence, but things can happen in an instance, and I am not taking a chance. At least I’m trying not to.

I take care of myself as best as I can, though I admit, it’s not as good a job as I did when I was younger. I might also be coddling myself more than I should, using any small malady as an excuse not to exercise, but maybe coddling is a necessary a part of taking care of oneself.

I also do things like find chores in the kitchen while I’m cooking so that I don’t get distracted and walk away from a potential hazard. And I pay attention to the sort of accidents that happen when people get older so that I can protect myself, if at all possible, from that happening to me. (Not that we can protect ourselves from everything, but being careful means at least trying.)

Mostly, I’m grateful. Grateful for everything I can do. Grateful for every day I wake up. Grateful for every pain-free moment. Grateful I can still read and understand what I’m reading. Grateful I can still eat what I like. Grateful for the friends I have and the companionship they give me.

Just . . . grateful.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, house, life. Tags: , , , , , , , . 7 Comments »

Fun? Me?

January 22, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
List five things you do for fun.
View all responses

Five things I do for fun:

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Yep, that’s right — I don’t do anything for fun, don’t even know how to have fun. Even as a kid, I didn’t know how to play let alone have fun. I used to like paper dolls, but after I did the work to cut out the clothes and tried them on the dolls, that was it. I never knew what to do with them afterward. I remember once I spent hours building a small town out of paper, complete with houses and streets, but since I didn’t know what to do with it, I let my younger siblings play with my creation while I sat and watched.

(Apparently, I was born with that trait. My mother often told the tale of baby me and how my eleven-month older brother would play with my toys, and as long as he stayed by my playpen so I could watch, I was content.)

To be honest, I don’t even know what fun is, so I had to look it up. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, fun is “light-hearted pleasure, enjoyment, or amusement; boisterous joviality or merrymaking; entertainment”.

Boisterous joviality and merrymaking are not part of my makeup. I am quiet, the one sitting back and letting other people get rowdy or drink too much or “party” (whatever that is). On my twenty-first birthday, I went to a bar in Central City with a friend for my first drink, but she dragged a friend of hers along. I sat and watched the two of them get raucously drunk. Finally, I went up to the bar and started talking to the owner. Even though he didn’t know it was my birthday, he seemed to feel sorry for me, especially as all I did was order a soft drink. At one point he asked me if I wanted to see his new icemaking machine and I said yes. I know what you think: “Hey, want to come up and see my etchings?” But no. He was thrilled with his new machine, and wanted to show it off. So typical of me! (Typical, too, that I had to drive those two drunks home, stopping periodically so they wouldn’t mess up by new car with their retching.)

I read a lot, but for me, reading is not a “light-hearted pleasure or enjoyment.” I’m not sure it’s even enjoyment. It’s more of a thing I do the in the same way I breathe — as a necessity, a mechanical act that keeps me alive, something that supports calm, and keeps me centered. It’s just what I do. Sometimes, if the book is not particularly stimulating, I let my conscious mind follow the story while my subconscious deals with whatever problems I might have, or even deconstructs the story to see what the author did.

I also like to learn, but that fits in with the whole “reading” thing.

As for entertainment: the last time I had a television (until I moved here to my permanent home, I rented a room in a house that came with a television), I decided to watch Hallmark movies. I figured I’d never spring for television programming, so it would be the last time I had a chance to watch those movies. So I did. But for me, it wasn’t entertaining so much as a study in how to put together a Hallmark movie. So much time for an introduction. So much time until the meeting. So much time for the characters to get to know each other. At exactly what time the big breakup/misunderstanding occurs. And finally how long for the happily ever after ending.

Despite being a rather quiet and serious person who spends most of her time alone, I still do like to laugh and chat with friends, but sometimes days pass without my seeing anyone, especially in winter. (Sometimes it takes more mental energy than I have to make the effort. Luckily, my friends make the effort for me.) In the summer, when I am out working in my yard (again, not really fun for me, though I do like seeing the results of my work) I often visit with neighbors across the fence, in the alley, or in the middle of the street depending on where those neighbors live.

A friend posted on her blog that instead of making New Year’s resolutions or intentions, she’d heard of a different way to start the year: pick a word to be a theme for that year. Sounds nice. Maybe I should choose “fun”?

But no, if resolutions tend to set us up for failure, then trying to live up to a word that is not in my nature would set me up for even more failure.

I suppose not being “fun-loving” is something I should worry about, but I’ve lived this long without being able to list five things I do for fun, so I suppose I can live my remaining years the same way. And anyway, I’m contented, which should count for something.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, books, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 8 Comments »

Pat In the Hat

January 20, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.
View all responses

A patrician during the Roman Empire was a person of noble birth, an aristocrat who had high social standing and owned a significant portion of wealth and land.

A plebian was everyone else — the ninety-five percent who did the work: farmers, merchants, laborers, crafts people, who had no rights and could not own land.

Eventually, the plebians managed to attain equal rights through protests and walkouts because a city could not survive, nor could a non-working aristocratic class survive when there were no workers to do the necessary tasks of keeping the armies marching, the cities clean, and the citizenry fed.

Still, throughout the centuries, those two words have held some sort of power. Although I was named after the patricians, I never felt “patrician.” I always considered myself to be plebian and my name ironic, though I am glad of the name “Pat.” I would not like being called “Plebe.”

Actually, I never really liked the name “Pat,” though I took that version of my name as an author name since it seemed to have a nice strong sound and connotation. I also used the name to introduce myself to new acquaintances, partly to help them find me online but mostly because I didn’t like giving my real name to strangers. (It felt as if I were giving too much of myself to people I didn’t know and perhaps would never see again.) When I was mostly nomadic, this pseudo-name didn’t matter. It only became a problem when strangers became friends, or when online connections became offline friends, and by then it was too late to change names.

My writing career, such as it was, has all but disappeared, so what I call myself doesn’t really matter, but it was the name I’d used for so long, that it seems convenient to keep it. The truth is, I no longer know what my real name is. Or if I have one. I spend so much time by myself, that there’s no need of a name. I just . . . am. (I once wanted to learn the names of birds; then it dawned on me that the names of birds were names we gave them, not the names they gave themselves, so it seemed rather a silly project. If you can’t learn the truth from the inside out, then looking from the outside in didn’t seem to gain much.)

A week or so ago, when I had just loaded groceries in my car, I heard someone call out, “Pat!” Since I didn’t associate the name with myself, it took me a moment to realize that a good friend was calling me from across the parking lot. (I recognized her voice before I realized who she was talking to.)

So, until I discover my real name, “Pat” is fine. Besides, to distinguish me from all the other Pats in this town — at least a half dozen of us — people identify me as “Pat in the Hat,” which is kind of cute. And accurate.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, history/myth, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 7 Comments »

Reverse Memory

January 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I’ve often heard people say that as they get older, it’s easier to remember their childhood than what they had for breakfast. I wonder how old you have to be before that sort of reverse memory kicks in. Or is it more of a dementia thing than an elderly thing?

Studies have shown that after 75, people tend to start becoming truly elderly, leaping ahead in the aging game. Before that age, people’s bodies can keep up with healing whatever goes wrong, but after that age, the ability to heal slows, and so the infirmities add up. Is it the same with mental issues?

So far, my memory seems okay, with only the typical problems people of all ages have of not being able to dig a particular word out of their memory or getting sidetracked and forgetting food on the stove. I am not yet to the point where I forget what I had for breakfast while remembering my childhood. In fact, there’s little about my childhood I remember or even want to remember. I certainly don’t remember being this little girl, though she was (is?) me.

For the most part, I don’t think about the past. It seems irrelevant, and to an extent, non-existent since no one knows where the past is. Mostly, though, I don’t have any issues with the past. I’ve come to terms with any problems that might have lingered, worked through grief, and dealt with my regrets. I purposely did so because back when I was taking care of my father after Jeff died, I knew that someday I’d be needing to create a new life for myself, and I didn’t want to bring along any excess baggage.

So what happens if I get to the point where my short-term memory is shot and my long-term memory is all I have? Do I have to go back to thinking about things I stopped thinking about long ago?

It’s not just the past I don’t think about — I usually don’t think about the future, either. Just as that little girl I once was could never imagine my life today, I’m thinking that the woman I am today can’t imagine what my life will be as the years pass. Of course, I know where the highway of my life will end — where it ends for everyone. Still, I find it best not to look too far ahead, since such views can be worrisome.

A funny thought (or maybe not so funny) — I read so much, a book a day usually, that other people’s lives are more in my mind than my own. When I get to where I forget today and start reminiscing, will I remember those lives as my own? Probably not — considering how much I read — starting a new book as soon as the old one is finished — I don’t give any book enough time to slither from short term memory to long term storage.

As with most of what I think about, none of this matters. These are just idle thoughts to fill an idle mind.

Still, I do wonder.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, life. Tags: , , , , , , , , , , . 3 Comments »
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