I had coffee yesterday with a couple of friends that I haven’t seen in eight years. My family moved, they don’t do email, the friendship cooled over time.

 But they moved into my area and we met to catch up. We laughed over the Samsonite suitcase story and the 15-passenger van escapade (I’ll tell you those stories another time).

We remembered.  I’m looking forward to making new memories with them.

I’m writing a novel right now about a people, following a cataclysmic event many years before, who refuse to tell their children what happened. Their theory is that remembering brings pain and solves nothing. They throw themselves into coping but their children want memories.

Are answers submerged in memories? Or do memories hold us back?

I’m not going to disclose the ending to my novel. But the idea intrigues me.

We’re programmed to remember. At times, we enjoy the memories. At other times, memories hold us back. Does this trait help us? What do you think?


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