The words “Danger Will Robinson” echo through the halls of memory as I wander down memory lane. My eyes glaze over as my attention focuses on visions of things past. So many stories that their plots blend and merge leaving me to wonder how we ever keep things straight. So much of what we think of as “me” is dependent on a reliable memory. What is left of that “me” when that memory lapses?
I spend ever more time trying to remember the titles to movies I have seen. Familiar ones whose names should roll freely off of my tongue. Instead I falter and try different letters of the alphabet to narrow my search for that group of words that upon hearing I will recognize as the ones I have been furtively seeking. There is no fun in losing ones ability to easily associate ones visual memories with their proper label.
Regardless of the number of people I have been with at the lapping shores of the Pacific ocean, it seems I mainly remember looking out upon that vast sea and being mesmerized by the organized chaos it represents. The concern over our purpose in life becomes a meaningless pursuit of the letters making up the words in a sentence so that they add up to something more insightful than what is already about us.