Why FOMO is One Big FOMA

FOMO, or “fear of missing out,” is a feeling many of us have become all too familiar with as our friends take to their social media accounts en masse to share the seemingly carefree, exhilarating, romantic, and creative moments they’re enjoying - without us. 

We compare and weigh experiences every day. Depending on our perspective, the comparisons vastly differ. To an extroverted person, staying in, even if their body is screaming at them to rest and be alone, equates to social suicide. What if I miss out on amazing conversations and moments with the most interesting of people? If I’m not there to witness whatever fortuitous occurrences are sure to ensue, will I live to regret it, as my friends recount the tales of what transpired that one brilliantly amazing night? To an introverted person, the inner dialogue is of the opposite kind - if I leave my house and venture into the unknown, and don’t have the best time of my life, aware that I could stay in and enjoy the comforts of the known, what is the point of venturing out?

To an intro-extroverted person like myself, FOMO takes on a confusing shape. My inner dialogue goes something like: how do I exist in more than one place at a time? I desire to do all of the things, everywhere and anywhere. I want to sway to the melodic hum of that new local indie band, while I cuddle my cats and become as lost in the story I’m reading as the characters themselves, who steadfastly trudge through murky orc mud en route to Mordor…

If there’s one thing Instagram and Facebook succeed at, it’s feeding our egos. At one point or another you will come across a photo on one of these platforms that makes you feel like you missed out, or nudge you to compare what’s happening in another person’s life to your own, either to their apparent advantage, or yours. Thoughts like, wow, what a beautiful family and home they’ve created for themselves at twenty-five, and here I am approaching thirty, microwaving a frozen Amy’s dinner and asking Google why my cat’s poop looks weird, might pop up. Or, aren’t they looking quite ho-ish these days! What a mess. Glad I’ve got my shit together. This is the ego talking. And boy, does it speak loudly. The ego loves wallowing in negative feelings, because that’s where it can effectively grow and build a home. As with any unwanted pest, the dark and dank corners of the home are where it finds refuge.

We could all benefit from heeding Tripper (Bill Murray)’s advice from Meatballs - “It just doesn’t matter.” And it really doesn’t. You’ve likely heard before that Instagram and Facebook pages typically feature someone’s highlight reel. Well, there’s something to that notion - social media is not reality, therefore our pages don’t often showcase the most difficult challenges we face daily, and let’s face it, bikini-clad/beer-toting boat pics often get more likes than a sad selfie with the caption, #Depression. Even though, many of us can feel depressed along with a gamut of emotions while we appear to be drenched in boat-beer-bikini euphoria.

In Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut introduces a Bokononist word, FOMA, which translates to lies, or harmless untruths, depending on how you interpret its meaning. I recently read it again for the first time in fifteen years (well before Instagram and Facebook continuously lit up my iPhone screen). When FOMA came up in my re-read, I audibly chuckled and sighed. That’s what FOMO is. These words are one vowel off, and that isn't their only similarity; when it comes to FOMA, if you understand and accept its lies, you can live a decent life (according to ancient Bokononist text).

With FOMO, if you realize that fear is debilitating and completely unnecessary, you can live not just a decent life, but an enlightened one. Perceived fear of missing something that is not of our current present moment is troublesome. It renders us incapable of being content and noticing the beauty of life, right here, in the now. Not there, not tomorrow, and certainly not yesterday. Moments occur in present time, and if we’re too busy worrying about whether or not we’re missing out on something incredible, something occurring away from us, the damage is already done, because we are missing out.

We’re missing out on the majesty of now.

Let’s remember to take a few deep breaths, lean into whichever decision we have chosen for our Friday night plans, and ride that wave with an open mind. We might even *gasp* have fun!

 

My Rushmore

You likely know the feeling - your crush enters the room and instantly your surroundings slow to a buzzing halt. Clammy-palmed and panting, you grasp for words that seem to have floated into the air, forever out of reach. Everything is fuzzy and perfect in that moment, because you are fixated on the one you admire. In that pulsating slice of heaven, nothing else matters.

That’s how I feel when I watch a Wes Anderson film. It might be attributed to the soothing voice of Seu Jorge, who pleasantly strums songs by the magnificent David Bowie, or the witty repartee between Bill Murray and Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, Anjelica Huston, et al.

It could be found in a family of cunning foxes dancing to The Bobby Fuller Four, or an intimate moment shared between young star-crossed lovers, involving a bloody fishing hook and a swollen ear. Or an idiosyncratic hotel concierge and his earnestly ardent lobby boy meandering through wild murder mysteries in the most comical ways. Or the slowed movements of a depressed, enigmatic, cigarette-wielding playwright sister as she glides to the guttural hum of The Velvet Underground's, Nico.

Le sigh. 

I let the expertly crafted Andersonian scenes pull me in, and suddenly I’m transfixed in an alternate reality that is equal parts quirk and vividness. This world contains the same mishaps and emotions us civilians experience, but amidst Anderson’s magical creations everything seems brighter; not simply due to over-saturated color schemes, but in the way he makes difficult yet incredibly relevant topics such as suicide and depression (as portrayed in The Royal Tenenbaums, and The Darjeeling Limited), seem endurable, and even hopeful. More importantly, embracing and normalizing these themes gives those who struggle with similar issues reason to feel that they aren’t alone in their strife.

That could be what lies at the root of my eternal Wes Anderson fangirldom. Heavy, thought-provoking issues are presented in fantastical packaging, yet beneath the impossibly colorful, luminescent landscape, are people just like you and me, navigating relationships with the unlikeliest of companions, and exploring the boundaries of their own psyche.

I realized the other day that in many ways I identify with Max Fischer from Rushmore. What could a thirty year old woman have in common with a self-destructive, hobby-obsessed high-school student who is in love with a teacher and finds joy in tearing apart her relationship with a dad of twin boys at his school? I'm glad you asked... 

I discovered something I suppose I've always subconsciously known - I constantly feel driven to chase various hobbies to experience the differing layers of life in whatever ways I can. This is a concept that Max embraces. Sure, his actions may at times seem troubled and purposeless (i.e.: attempting to build an aquarium on top of his school's baseball field), though you can't help but appreciate the charming naiveté of his attempts at grand gestures targeted at Ms. Cross, a.k.a., his "Rushmore."

Writing is my "Rushmore" - it is the cause I will follow into the dark, with unbridled fervor until the end of my days. I think Max would appreciate my sentiments and approve of such extreme dedication.

By the end of Rushmore, Max focuses on playwriting as his new "Rushmore," instead of concentrating that energy on Ms. Cross, who will never be his. This Anderson classic teaches us to follow our heart, though perhaps channel our energy and passion towards creation, not destruction. I can dig that. 

 

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How Twin Peaks Finds Balance in Opposition

Life, in all its beautiful complexity, reveals dualities everywhere at any given moment in time, whether it be through tangible nature, human interaction, or self-reflection. Twin Peaks does a remarkable job of pointing out the dualities of human existence in conversations and revelations dealing with interconnection between the cosmos, and the individual. 

Part 4 of Twin Peaks: The Return reminds us of David Lynch's affinity for meditation and Eastern religion/philosophy, in Wally Brando's conversation with Sheriff Frank Truman. Wally says, "My shadow is always with me. Sometimes ahead. Sometimes behind. Sometimes to the left. Sometimes to the right. Except on cloudy days, or at night." Sheriff Truman offers his own, less esoteric wisdom to the young traveler: "May the road rise up to meet your wheels." 

The shadow Wally refers to can be seen as his sense of self, similar to the old adage, "no matter where you go, there you are." We cannot escape ourselves, even though we may attempt to, by hopping on our motorcycle to "rocket blind into the dark," like James Hurley. James spends much of Season 2 running away, but he is constantly met with potholes that bring him back to his truth; a reality in which his loved ones die. He cannot accept, and therefore he cannot be freed from his inner turmoil. 

Sheriff Truman's quote winks back at James and brings a sense of balance to the presumably unbalanced life of "the wanderer." There is duality within his words - the journey of self-discovery, and the physical journey that a traveler takes. In both journeys the road may not always be smooth, and that's OK. That is to be expected. Twin Peaks shows us how the path we travel down in life is determined by our perceptions, and ultimately, our actions. We can't make the Bobs of the world go away simply by willing them to disappear, but we can decide how we will handle them.

If we give in to the Bobs, and assign them power over our emotions, are we allowing them to grow stronger, and continue their wrath upon humanity? 

Wally and Sheriff Truman's quotes perfectly mirror the two different kinds of characters found among the Twin Peaks universe - an absurd, surrealist figure, and a straightforward average Joe archetype. There are some characters who fit into both of these personas (Agent Cooper wavers between being matter-of-fact and surreal), but there are some who are completely on opposite ends of the spectrum, and as a result, their personalities are underscored even more. I love seeing these contrasts play out in the show, as demonstrated between Wally and Sheriff Truman's memorable exchange this season.

This balance also brings to the forefront Lynch's understanding of yin and yang. There must be both in order to maintain balance. The Sarah and Leland Palmers must be balanced by the Eileen and Doc Haywards, otherwise chaos will ensue. 

At the end of Part 3 in The Return, a framed photo of existentialist figure, Franz Kafka, is seen on display in FBI Deputy Director, Gordon Cole's office. This gem points to the surreal that is woven throughout every season of Twin Peaks, and cleverly interlaced existentialist musings that Lynch presents to his audience. 

An example of this is in Episode 11 of Season 2, when Agent Cooper temporarily loses his FBI badge while under investigation for possible involvement in crimes related to drug trafficking and a high-profile murder. He explains to FBI Agent Roger Hardy that he is attempting to "see beyond fear." Cooper marvels: "The sound the wind makes through the vines. The sentience of animals. What we fear in the dark and what lies beyond the darkness." This is one of my favorite quotes from Twin Peaks, because it highlights one of the great mysteries of the show, and truly, one of the great mysteries of human existence - what lies beyond the darkness.

The darkness applies to more than just physical space - it pertains to human psyche, and death. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, the dichotomy between light and dark is persistent throughout Twin Peaks, both in the show's mise en scène and narrative. The macabre Lynchian film aesthetic isn't dark simply for the sake of being dark. Even the maddest tea parties have a rhythm, and in that rhythm one can find purpose in the seemingly unsound. 

In this scene, Agent Cooper goes on to further state that he is choosing to "look at the world with love." This choice is one that many people struggle to handle when faced with adversity, and ultimately the choice is ours, even if we feel it's out of our control. Our perception determines our reality - we can either choose to see the world through hopeful eyes like that of Season 1 and 2 Agent Cooper's, or let our inner Bob take hold and succumb to the darkest part of ourselves. 

I will continue to explore duality and references to Eastern philosophies in future blog posts. Interested in discussing these concepts further? Comment below and let's continue teasing out these thought-provoking ideas! 

My [B]log Has Something to Tell You: Women Rule Twin Peaks (Part Two)

Flash forward twenty-five years to the familiar blood red curtains; the black/white Chevron floor; the frantic fleeing legs of a misguided Agent Cooper...fans are immediately brought back into the Red Room without seeming to skip a beat.

In Twin Peaks: The Return, many characters have reprised their eccentric roles, and symptomatic of the Black Lodge, their speech is altered/slowed; a symbol of the upside-down world in which they find themselves at present. Of course there are some new twists that David Lynch and Mark Frost have thrown in to keep the audience on their toes and continuing to question everything they know to be true about reality...

I couldn't help but find similarities between the two dark haired, red-attired women of the Black Lodge that help Agent Cooper out of the obscure, suffocatingly-shaky crimson space he meanders as he moves closer to escape, and the character Rita, from Lynch's Mulholland Drive. All of these women have dark hair just above their shoulders and wear the unmistakably bold red that is synonymous with the term Lynchian.

What do these women signify?

One of the Black Lodge women in red, warns Agent Cooper that her mother is coming, as a deafening door knock booms in the background. The knock becomes louder and more threatening as Cooper nears the edge of the Black Lodge, looming at re-entry into current day Twin Peaks. 

Beyond their physical appearance, one overarching component these women share is their ability to deliver poignant messages to the protagonists of Lynch’s worlds.

The impactful Silencio scene from Mulholland Drive, is an enlightening moment in the film where the audience discovers (along with Betty and Rita), that reality is an illusion - nothing is as it seems. The female singer's affecting performance and the message it carries, sets the tone for the rest of the film.

Rita enters Betty’s life in the first part of the film seemingly lost physically/mentally. The two women connect and guide each other in their search to discover Rita’s identity and the identity of the illusive Diane (another tie-in to Twin Peaks, à la Agent Cooper's confidant). If you’ve seen the film (and shame on you if you haven’t), you know how this plays out, but it’s interesting to note that the women of Lynch’s works are providers of crucial information that undoubtedly transform each of his stories.

This idea is also apparent with the Log Lady in Twin Peaks: The Return. She calls Hawk in the middle of the night on several occasions under the velvet light of a red lamp, log in hand, to give him clues as to where he can find Agent Cooper. Her messages, abstract and silly as they may seem, end up being incredibly helpful throughout every season of Twin Peaks - not only for the protagonist, but for the audience as well. 

So the next time you see someone press their ear to a log, a tree, or any plant for that matter, don’t laugh...they may in fact hold the entire universe in their hands, and if you listen closely you might discover truths that peel apart your reality in remarkable ways. 

 

My [B]log Has Something to Tell You: Women Rule Twin Peaks (Part One)

What comes to mind when you think of the term, Lynchian? Is it the quirky director/writer’s twist on the classic femme fatale trope, his offbeat, dramatized characters who attempt to make sense of their place in the tangled web they weave between darkness/lightness, and reality/dreams, or the consistent splashes of reds and blues that punctuate each scene of his expansive work?

David Lynch’s filming style is difficult to conclusively define, because in many ways it surpasses the confines suggested by the word - label. A Lynch fan comes up with their own idea of what his work means in their mind, though translating that notion into words can be challenging.

With Twin Peaks’ return to the small-screen today, I can’t help but think about not only Laura Palmer, the fallen centerpiece around which the town and its troubled inhabitants existed, but many of the show’s other (arguably more), unforgettable ladies.

Audrey Horne, for example, started season one as a bratty misfit, whose sights were set on the charming, unattainable Agent Cooper. She is consistently dismayed that she must live life as a teenager, when all she wants is to be a powerful woman - free of the chains of adolescence. Can’t a girl dance in a diner to her favorite snappy jazz melodies in peace, without a barrage of eye-rolls? She is the epitome of a classic femme fatale in the sense that her gaze and her words are equally matched in haunting charisma, but as with any multi-faceted woman, there is more to her than meets the eye.

In season two we are met with a more self-assured, self-reliant Audrey, who is no longer asking that her father pay her attention, but ensuring that he has no option other than to notice her, and rely upon her for his own well-being. She turns into the adult role model she needs and doesn’t have; not only is she now a powerful player within her father’s company, but she is also a pivotal motivator to men psychologically, with her physicality taking more of a backseat. She becomes increasingly aware of her own potential, and therefore is able to heavily influence the once “Big Men on Campus” (her father, Bobby, and others), to aid her agenda, while making it appear that her goal is to put the agenda of these men first.

This isn’t the only role-reversal between male/female relations throughout the series. Donna hurries to James’ aid when he becomes trapped in a deadly love-triangle between an older woman and her murderous brother-who-is-actually-her-controlling-lover. Donna shifts from easily falling to pieces over incessant waves of emotions (understandably, given that most of her loved ones are dying off like fruit flies), to being a stoic, black Wayfarer-clad chainsmoker in several piercing gem-toned cardigans.


And we mustn’t forget Josie and Catherine. These women have more in common than they care to admit, and are two of the most powerful women throughout the show. They meticulously construct every piece of their reality to fit their own needs - though as we see in the end of season two, a person's needs can be highly complicated, and intersect with the needs of their love interest. Sometimes you think you're pouring a cup of coffee, "black as midnight on a moonless night," only to discover a fish in the percolator. 

To be continued...

 

 

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All or Nothing

Many of us are familiar with the phrase “all or nothing,” or its similar contemporary vernacular, “‘go big, or go home.” While these catch phrases are meant to inspire greatness and perhaps light a fire within us to reach higher (or alternately, never become lit), there are other meanings that can be extracted from these expressions and ways we can use their words as a vehicle to enhance our creative process.

Creative people often believe that if they’re not working on their next project or fine-tuning their skills, they are failing at their life’s intended purpose (to create something meaningful). No minute should be wasted, in their constantly moving mind and multi-tasking is paramount in productivity. For some, this method is constructive and gives aid to the creator’s mission. For others, this need to constantly move and “matter” is exhausting and ultimately takes away from the ability to freely create.

As we become a more technologically connected society and attach ourselves physically and mentally to our calendars, social groups, and apps to make us run according to schedule, we can easily get lost in a constant reel of thought. As if our minds weren’t already jumbled with tasks, or internal dialogue; the daily check-ins on social media platforms to stay connected can hurt our ability to create, just as it can help. Moderation is important for anyone, creative or not, in living a healthy, balanced life. Moderation doesn’t just apply to the way we physically consume food either - it can also apply to the way we feed our brain.

There is something to be said about devoting time to honing a craft and sticking to it daily, or weekly, in order to improve and see results. As with any skill, practice is crucial to growth. However, we must ask ourselves, how meaningful will my art be if it’s derived from a busy mind? It can be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to create in a cluttered physical space and this also applies to our minds; if our mind is cluttered, what will the quality of our creation be?

I would like to suggest that as creatives, we apply the idiom “all or nothing” to our work habits. That is to say, give your current projects everything you have - your time, your *entire* mind, your present self. If this isn’t possible - your wearable devices are buzzing to no end, pets are vying for your attention, the dishes are piling up, etc...then don’t force the creative process.

Allow yourself the space to simply be, whether that translates to feeling the blazing sun beat down on your brow as you garden, reading a book curled up on the couch, listening to music while stretched out on the floor, or just sitting in silence. These restful acts are incredibly important and in no way are meant to be acts of stigmatized nothingness, though to the constantly moving creative, these joyful acts can appear to be time suckers.

Being still and present doesn't mean you have to force yourself to meditate, though there is immense value in sitting with your thoughts and acknowledging them until they dissipate. The key is to be fully immersed in the moment, without distraction. It's also important not to beat yourself up if you become preoccupied while focusing on stillness - simply acknowledge the new thought that has entered your mind and then release it, bringing your focus back to inner quietness. Spring cleaning is just as vital to your mental space, as it is your living space.


Can we find a healthy balance between our connected life and our creative life? Is creativity synonymous with isolation? Yes - we can remain plugged in while we create and our work will not necessarily lose significance as a result. And no, we don’t have to channel Edgar Allan Poe, or Emily Dickinson, sitting alone in a dimly lit room without windows in order to garner meaning from our work. We must remember though, not to get wrapped up in a false necessity to juggle creation and connection - we must create the space in our lives to give our work everything and also surrender and do nothing every so often, for the sake of our art. If our well-being is in check, our art will improve as a result.

Confessions of an Ex-Emo Kid

If you grew up in the 90s and early 2000s, you’ll recall the allure of butterfly clips, classically cool Rom-Coms like She’s All That and Bring It On, and if you’re honest with yourself, the memory of your first Nano Pet’s death may still sting a little. 

Buried beneath myriad gems that came out of the 90s and early 2000s, is a true diamond in the rough. It looks like perfectly smudged jet-black eyeliner and matching nail polish, smells like bangs drenched in pomade, and sounds like well, pain.

It’s a little something called emo music.

For those who were born after this trend faded back into the misty abyss whence it came—emo music originated from mid-1980s punk, but the specific brand of emo I’m enamored by, was introduced at the turn of the millennium.

Bands like Dashboard Confessional, Jimmy Eat World, Finch, and Taking Back Sunday, lit up my Myspace playlists and made multiple appearances in my AOL Instant Messenger bio. Together we worked to demonstrate to my peers what the depths of a teen soul looks like in one hundred letters or less. It was glorious.

In 2003, an angsty, activist fifteen year old, reeling from a break-up with her first love and saddened by America’s plans to occupy Iraq, had her own mission to complete. She sparked up a few sticks of incense and let the jasmine haze surround her fervent fingers that worked to assemble a variety of mix CDs. Bands like Saves the Day and Thursday, seemed to be the only people who understood her plight in a world of never-ending question marks.

Does that girl sound familiar? She was me, but if you were in high school during 2003, chances are she was also you.

No matter what era you came of age in, songs from those confusing, yet informative years will undoubtedly hold a special place in your heart. Those were the years you grew into yourself, fell in love for the first time, lost your virginity and perhaps enjoyed screamo concerts from the top of a van parked behind rusty, abandoned railroad tracks.

Even if you’d rather leave emo music back in 2003 with your chartreuse Jansport backpack, and Converse All-Star Chuck Taylors, and you’ve retired from running head first into a throng of sweaty mosh-pit goers; you can still take a moment to marvel at a genre of music that paved its way through a dichotomy of simple music, and complex emotions.

Emo musicians didn’t rely on the power of synthesizers or wall-vibrating bass to appeal to the masses; they relied instead on the seductive charm of heartbreak, and found solace in the dark and dreary corner of the ego that we’re taught to avoid. Each of their songs was a diary entry, and as fans we were able to share with them the dark anguish of collective pain, like the oldest of friends.

These musicians weren’t afraid to dwell in the misery of loneliness and heartache.

I mean, really they were the Edgar Allan Poes of the early 2000s. They put their souls on a platter, and with a few guitar riffs and high-pitched screams, you finally felt understood. You felt like you had a port in the hormone-raging-storm that was your teen years.

I imagine emo musicians, circa 2001, sitting in their darkly lit garage, penning the tale of a young couple torn apart by bruised egos and the promise of a better tomorrow. I can’t help smile knowing this was the music that made up the soundtrack of my teen years, and breathe a huge sigh of relief knowing life is much grander than I ever could have imagined in my youth, and yes, life does go on.

While my bedroom walls are no longer plastered with glossy band posters and the lingering scent of Nag Champa has faded, the affinity I have for emo music will continue to rage on for as long as my heart still beats—or at least until this throwback playlist on Spotify ends.

 



Ruminating About Reality Television

            With the ever-increasing popularity of reality television, bullying has become an issue that is expected, or revered as a game, as opposed to something that's looked down upon. The Real Housewives and Bad Girls Club television franchises have turned girl-against-girl bullying into a revenue builder, and position bullying as a necessity in climbing your way to the top, and gaining ample screen time. The Housewives who get the most screen time and news circulating around them are the ones who stir the pot, create drama, and are often at the helm of a vicious bully cycle within their group of television “friends.”

This misperception that bullying should be considered in any way positive, or worthy of attention, is one of the main reasons why it’s not taken seriously throughout our society. How can we expect teens to refrain from taunting their peers, if we glorify grown women on television who exemplify this behavior?  

 

Why Wait?

Societal norms dictate that an experience is better if shared, whether it is through being in the physical presence of someone else, or by sharing a photo or status with hundreds of "friends" via social media platforms.

Somehow enjoying experiences alone, without physical company or the company of cyber followers, has become stigmatized.

What if, for example, you don't want to wait around for someone to travel with you to an exotic land, or flee to the city for an impromptu jazz club performance, or marvel at the beautiful dancers of the ballet...

What if you want to do all of those things now, on your terms? 
Life keeps moving along and it's too short to wait around for someone else when you're perfectly capable of enjoying things alone!

I propose an idea, for all of the introverts, the extroverts and the intro-extroverts (like myself): let's extract negative connotation from the word alone.

Being alone doesn't have to be scary or sad. Let it be full of possibility.

I am

I am a feminist. 

Though the margins have widened, as a woman, I am there, in the greyed space where questions collect, and float into the air, looking for a place to land. 

I am sexual agency knocking on a door to unlock standards that have folded in origami sickness. Gendered norms surround my consciousness, but I push them back, at least during the night. 

Worry is part of the process when your body is considered property. It whispers through your hair, and tightens every button. Vibrates every vertebra. 

Fear is a necessity when flesh is policed, quieted, shamed, demoralized. Fear has become all too familiar, when it comes to matters of femininity. 

I tightrope waver beside alligators who decide which side of the coin I am offered. Strongly male-appointed words become derogatory slurs, but I invite them anyway. 

I am me. 

Reverie at 9:48pm on a Thursday Evening in March

A recent conversation with a friend sparked a poignant thought process about what memory is. What does it mean when we can no longer remember what someone looks like? We may grasp in the corners of our mind for some semblance of an identity that constitutes the person we once knew, but if we didn't have a photograph, or the constant stream of social media to remind us, how would we know if our memory is painting an accurate picture of this person, or a certain moment in time? How do we know it's not just our mind creating a story--building an image of what we think something or someone looks like, or once looked like? 

What if we try to forget a person, a place, a painful memory, but can't seem to shake it? Our senses seem to become heightened in moments where strong emotions emerge either in a positive or negative way, leaving a strong impression in our memory. I'm intrigued by the ability to recall memories and relive the experience of the memory in the present moment, feeling the intensity of senses and emotions that arise from the moment I'm recalling, whether positive or negative. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually remembering the scene correctly, or if I'm remembering my mind's construct of the situation from my own limited perspective of the moment. 

What I do know is that our memories are never 100% correct, especially as time goes on and our mind distorts details, leaving pieces missing from the puzzle. We'll keep collecting pieces with each of our constructs looking entirely different from what once was.