Maybe I don’t have to remember everything; or perfectly (although I’d sure like to).

Maybe some memories can reside in others.

Maybe that’s part of the lesson.

You can always ask others for help, in any pursuit. It’s generally been the case that everyone else seems to see a version of my truth more easily than I can myself.  At least the outward leading indicators against which I often cast that doubt, about which I am easily absent-minded.

I’d completely forgotten about the chance encounter with Emily’s parents at the Crepe, in which they suggested I go visit her and Jason in western Mass during my trip and I had totally agreed. Then, mid-trip, my sister texts me she had tea with Mischa and that she thought I should really go.

And I’m really glad that I did go.

I’d drafted yesterday’s post and written about a certain null hypothesis and excavation for positive doubt. The idea felt true, but it also felt like I was mis-remembering. So afterward I asked Estelí if she remembered what I had actually been drawing the line about. And, yes, I had remembered my own words in one very specific way, very differently.

It hadn’t originally been a search for doubt. She reminded me it was a timeline of anything that had actually gone wrong. But that in looking from the present, all those things that seemed like failures or mistakes or errors somehow seemed to correct themselves through time. Or in fact were the corrections.

Even my mis-remembering of the whole little treatise. Maybe I wasn’t wrong about that, either. That to search for doubt instead of failure was its own unexpected correction.


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