Yesterday a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star…
Joni Mitchell, “The Circle Game”

We spent summer days playing capture the flag, weaving in and out of backyards, our Keds slapping the street pavement as our shouts lingered in the air, like the heat that clung to our skin. After the dinner dishes were washed and put away, we gathered every flashlight we could find and ran outside to meet again for a neighborhood game of tag.

Carnivals were erected in a backyard, where a hammock transformed into a ride, a Magic 8 Ball foretold our future, and erasers in the shape of unicorns and sunglasses were the grand prize if the ball made it through the tire swing.

In a metal canoe behind a shed, we were explorers out at sea; in an unfinished basement piled high with bags of clothes, we ruled a kingdom.

Parents taught us how to ride our first two-wheeler by shoving us down the hill in our backyard where we fell, got back up again, and kept on going…We scraped our knees roller skating and shed our tears as Mom bandaged us up; then we ran back outside, ready to do it all over again.

Sleepovers meant four girls playing dress up or Barbies or, as we got older, testing out the Ouija board and watching music videos on MTV. We whispered secrets-that-weren’t-really-secrets as we lay tucked in New Kids on the Block sleeping bags on a hardwood floor, thinking about the next day when we would traipse through the forest in the back of our neighborhood to pick daffodils and play house in the fort that we discovered and claimed but never knew how it got there.

Memories that are kept close to the heart, that break through the surface with the hum of a Saturday morning theme song or the mention of a favorite toy. What is this nostalgia? Why do we embrace the past and ask Remember When? with a smile.

Is it because things have so changed since then? Is it because we long for the simple innocence of yesterday, when being in trouble meant getting grounded, and getting grounded meant going to your room where you curled up in bed anyway and indulged in a favorite book? A time when fractions were the enemy, but you could always get your big brother to help you out, and when you could be proud of that diorama just knowing the work you put into it?

A time when competition meant either winning or losing and losing meant you just worked harder; a time when best friends sat beside you on the bus and held your hand when you were scared?

A time when a hug and a band-aid could make everything better.

Maybe we long for this time because every memory that makes you smile or laugh or cry or cringe is a culmination of you. Maybe looking back to then helps us better understand our now, to see how far we’ve come and how far we want to go.

Maybe, just maybe, thinking fondly on the past helps us look forward to a better future.

A smile. A laugh.

Remember when?

Yeah you questioned this life
Sure you wondered about love
But you swear there’s always hope
Always hope from above…

It’s just another breath
It’s just another breath you say
It’s just another step
It’s just another step today…
Collective Soul, “Good Morning After All”

Centuries upon centuries ago, philosophers gazed up at the heavens and wondered how the world worked and what it all meant.

These were people trying to find their purpose, their reason for being, some kind of connection.

And now, here we are in the modern age, trying to do the same.

Questions without answers; theories and beliefs, but nothing definitive; no neon sign claiming: “this is your purpose, your reason for being. This is the answer to that all-encompassing ‘why’.” Nothing that explains why we encounter the things we encounter, why we meet the people why meet, and why we experience what we experience.

I believe that everything has its reason; I believe that in everything there’s a lesson from which to learn and grow.

But I really don’t understand what this is trying to teach me.

I spent most of yesterday in the doctor’s office and the hospital getting tests done — pain caused by another cyst that my family doctor can’t explain because the medicine was supposed to alleviate this symptom.

I have people on my side now, a doctor who recognizes that something is going on, only we don’t know what, people who are willing to work with me and figure out the causes rather than brushing it all aside, and my mom — my mom for whom I’m so grateful, who has been there at every doctor visit, every single step of the way. I have this support that I so appreciate but still, there are so many questions and no answers and I’m trying to find that connection, that ‘why’.

Today, I googled.

I googled, and within ten minutes I managed to scare the ever-loving daylights out of myself, somehow convincing myself that I have every illness listed that begins with A-Z.

I want a name, something to call it. I think I believe that maybe if I know what it is, I can handle it, conquer it; I can control it. I think I believe that I can figure out what I’m supposed to be doing and what I’m supposed to learn from it and where to go from there. But this unknown…

Oh, this unknown. It’s always been one of those lingering fears — blindly trusting and placing your faith in something that never guarantees the outcome you want or expect.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this. I don’t know where I’m headed or how it adds up in the grand scheme of things. Though I do believe in that, I believe that things add up — moments and experiences that create the life you live and the person that you are. For every other obstacle in my life I can look back and say, “yes, this is what I learned, and this is how it has changed me.” For every other experience, I can say “I understand its purpose and what it means.”

But for this…

I’m left frustrated and confused and feeling a bit guilty that I can’t put it all into perspective, that I can’t shake this fear and frustration, that there are so many others going through so much worse and here I am feeling weak and dejected and a self-pity that I promised myself I would never, ever feel.

I’m left with questions and no answers, beliefs but no reason, trying to figure out where I fit in, where this fits in.

I’m left trying, once again, to figure out how it all works, wondering, as people have always wondered, what it all means.

If I could reach the stars
Pull one down for you
Shine it on my heart
So you could see the truth…
Eric Clapton, “If I Could (Change the World)”

My mind is crowded with ideas — thoughts marked by what-ifs, the huge philosophies that make you wonder at the complexities of life. So many thoughts have been tumbling around in there lately that I haven’t had the energy or willpower to even attempt to verbalize them. I wonder if they can be verbalized, or if these ideas will just wind up being hollow words, not able to accurately define what I’m trying to say.

See? It’s starting.

Maybe it comes from being a writer, or maybe it comes from being a dreamer. Or maybe it just comes from an all-too vivid imagination, but sometimes I can’t stop wondering if there’s something more, believing in something better. I wonder what if and I think if only and I question why…How might the world be changed? How might we be changed?

What if the smallest pleasures could put a smile on your face and ease the memory of heartache — the love of a puppy, a card from a friend, a simple bowl of ice cream as you curl up on the couch…

I bet ice cream could change the world.

What if we believed in each other. What if every person we saw or met — even just in passing on a city sidewalk — added up to a moment in our life. What if everything, including that mere moment, had its impact on us, even in the vaguest of ways.

What if we could remember nothing at all — how drastically would our lives be changed?

What if we remembered everything?

What if our lives were lived seamlessly rather than in the stages?

What if we cherished the everyday moments — chatter over breakfast in the morning, a kiss before work, a game of tug of war with your dog in the evening, moments of reflection in the solitude of night — knowing that those precious moments are fleeting in the span of a lifetime?

What if we looked at the world as if there was something greater than ourselves at work. What if we realized that we were all in this together?

What if everything we worried about today didn’t matter tomorrow?

What if?

What if…

What if.

And if the darkness is to keep us apart,
and if the daylight feels like it’s a long way off…
And if your glass heart should crack,
and for a second you turn back,
Oh, no, be strong…
U2, “Walk On”

Ever since we started finding answers to these health issues, I’ve kept a calendar on my wall at work as a visual. It’s the perfect calendar, actually — a dear friend sent it to me for Christmas, and the month after month of cute puppy pictures never fails to elicit at least the semblance of a smile, if not a tender, affectionate “aww.” It’s a reminder of how I’m cared for and what means the most to me.

And how far I’ve come.

The days are filled with color as I mark how I’m doing — yellow for the good days, blue for the rough ones. Last month, as medicines had their side effect and I hit my lowest point, I pulled out my highlighter and filled in a block of of blue days. Then, suddenly, as new medications took effect and the cloud cleared, I smiled. Then I laughed. Then I felt happy and healthy and full of energy. The days turned yellow. And it remained yellow still.

Until this weekend.

I’m frustrated because I was doing so well, and I’m disappointed because I’m so tired of this sometimes daily struggle. I had a glimpse of myself. I saw the real me among all those yellow-colored days.

This is who I really am! I want to shout to the world. This girl who laughs and smiles and teases; this girl who finds pleasure in helping others, who is chatty and positive and upbeat. This girl who believes in something, who dares and dreams and has enough energy to actually move forward on those dreams. This is me!

That was me…

And yet, this isn’t me.

Every day is a different day. Every morning I wake up wondering how the day will turn out. On the days I feel good, the world is full of life and love and everything in between. On the days I don’t, I withdraw, hiding inwardly among my own thoughts and reflection, my eyes losing their sparkle, friends and colleagues tell me, as I lose my smile.

On these days, emotion is a tidal wave that can’t be controlled or stopped no matter how much I try to control or stop it. I feel like I’m failing my colleagues. I feel like I’m scaring my parents and friends. What’s worse, I feel like I’m failing and scaring myself.

I have no answers and a million questions. I have promises and a thousand excuses. I have dreams and goals and a hundred self-doubts.

And yet, slowly I’m finding answers to those questions; bit by bit, I’m able to hold fast to those promises. Little by little, I’m starting to believe in my dreams again.

On the yellow-colored days, I thrive. On the blue ones, I do what I can to hold onto hope, clinging to whatever strength I can muster as I keep looking to tomorrow.

Remember the good times that we had?
Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories…
Sarah McLachlan, “I Will Remember You”

The landscape of my life is changing. I know it was bound to happen, as time changes and small towns grow more populated, as neighbors move away and new families take their place, as strangers shout hello and old friends whisper goodbye…

The red barn that I used to pass every day on my way home is being torn down. Up the road, the hotel where my grandparents had their fiftieth anniversary party is being razed to make room for a gas ‘n go. It’s a crappy hotel, and the only memory I really have of the party are old people I never knew in fancy dresses who wore layers of makeup and smelled strongly of perfume. But the memory is there, locked behind four walls, mingling with others’ reminiscence.

Fields of corn are bulldozed for new residences, and soon I’ll think they have always been there, like that neighborhood on the corner. Businesses change their signs from therapist office to law office to library. I don’t even recognize my high school anymore, having undergone a multi-million dollar upgrade since I graduated. A few days ago, I took a shortcut home from the pizza shop that is still there, still going strong, driving past the school in order to connect to another road. But the road I used to drive down is now just earth, covered by another playing field, devoid of any sign that anyone had ever been down that path before.

We grow up and everything changes. Or maybe we change and everything else just tries to keep up.

Someday, I won’t recognize this town, though it will always be my home. Someday, I’ll say, “we had a fort there in those woods and picked the daffodils that grew among the fallen logs and moss. And look, see, that church lawn was where we had neighborhood picnics and Easter egg hunts and planned performances beneath the willow trees.”

Someday I’ll say, “that was my home — where my brothers and I fought and played and chased each other with water guns; where we once played basketball into the late summer night, the open garage door spilling light onto the surface of the driveway; where we crowded in the kitchen at five o’clock dinner time — sneaking treats to the dogs at our feet.

There are memories stored in places, moments frozen in time and marked by the structures that housed our dreams, our laughter, our tears, and ourselves. And while someday I know I’ll love another place, while someday there will be another home, there are these moments and memories I’ll always return to.

Because while a landscape may change, while we may change, there are some things that will always remain the same.