my grandpa fell the other day, so we went to the farm to visit him (he was actually ok and in great shape when we saw him so don't worry). growing up, i came to the farm often. i have lots of memories stored up there.
crashing my moped and pulling barbwire out of my neck.
shooting my first bird.
mountain dew.
great pyrenees.
hercules the dog. herky for short.
speeding down the old airport runway.
the massive property with endless junk and rusted metal.
going back to an old place you used to frequent is a difficult feeling to pin down. nostalgia, joy, mystery. they all start firing off.
but what i noticed most was that those big experiences i had at the farm were actually a lot smaller in reality. we actually went to the farm that much. that rocky road i crashed on wasn't actually all that rocky. the dogs are gone but i bet they were actually smaller than i remember. speeding down the runway was actually only 30mph.
whether those experiences were actually as big as i remember them or not, how i have remembered them is what has stuck with me all this time. and maybe i am wrong about being wrong - maybe those things were big. but i doubt.
it scares me to say this but i don't care that it didn't actually happen the way i remember it, and i do care that those things were grand and special to me. rather than over analyze with a cynical eye and investigate them too deeply, i want to continue to feel the nostalgia and the joy and the mystery and believe it. i forever want to feel things for the first time and experience the world like i did the farm - with child-like eyes and senses.
“i’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
