Saturday night, I hopped on Instagram Live and mindfully prepared our Sunday dinner. I harvested a large bowl of Purple Thai basil, Genovese basil, and a tiny head of dinosaur kale from my garden. I love cooking and chatting with friends online.
I am such a nostalgic woman. I find so much joy in reminiscing about the good old days.
A call from a homegirl I haven’t talked to for a while will always feature a tag team effort of conjuring up memories from our college days, high school experiences, and the times we spent together as part of various organizations and spiritual communities.
Sometimes, these nostalgic memories are funny or a way to soothe and process some of our traumatizing experiences. These conversations remind us of the harmful spaces that we outgrew, spaces that only the woman on the other side of the phone can truly comprehend.
My husband and I love to dive deep into our favorite memories together. We sit in disbelief that we’ve been married for eight years; we laugh and say, “Dang, remember when….”
We discuss our first dates, the arguments that turned into jokes, and the phrase, “I was wrong…my bad.” We look at photos of our favorite memories of traveling together, presenting at conferences, and hosting open mic nights at home with friends. We look at pictures and say, “Where is that shirt?”
Like seriously, many of my memories are filled with questions about where that ‘dress” or blouse is.
This past week, I realized that remembering the past can take up more space than being present. I often try to remind myself that this moment is all I truly own, and it will soon become a memory.
Cooking on Instagram Live showed me that I can overlook my instinct to rush through cooking if I’m not careful. I find myself swinging past my partner to find ingredients with excitement for what we have planned next in the day. I caught myself saying out loud in the kitchen last week, “God help me to slow down.” I wanted to enjoy the moment and be present in it. Not just complete my next task.
Making a meal together is something I can easily take for granted; it will soon be a “remember the three types of basil we grew in my 30s and how we prepared meals with them together.” memory.
As we age, it’s easy to assume our best days are behind us when the reality is we are rushing past them to the next task.
May we be present with gratitude this week…because I sincerely believe every day can be our new “best days.”