Maybe I conveniently forget.

I've forgotten far more of my life than I remember. Which makes me wonder if I've really lived most of my life. Perhaps I just existed. Went through the motions. Because much of it wasn't memorable. Quite forgettable. Oh, I can remember a few days in kindergarten. I'm sure I was there. I even have a picture of my kindergarten class. And there I am. In the first row. At the far right end. A handsome little fella, if I may say so. And I can call to mind some days at every level of elementary school. But not all that many. I was still trying to master the art of consciousness. Still am. In my 74th year. But golly gee, I've missed so much. It's been erased from my memory. If it was ever there. I'm trying to live fully. One day at a time. But still, it's hard for me to remember exactly what I did last week or last month or last year. I know I'm enjoying life. Having fun. But I don't capture everything. I think I know what I am. A romantic idealist. A free-thinker. A liberal. And a lover. I've pretty much got that down. And I can give plenty of examples to make my case. But if I was to write an autobiography, I'd miss a whole lot. And I'd probably romanticize. And make myself look good. Maybe it's the stuff that ain't so good. That I've conveniently forgotten. --Jim Broede