For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble falling asleep. It’s such a part of me that I don’t question lying in bed for an hour before drifting into slumber. My apathy was tested the last month after some of my things were stolen (see my last blog, Sometimes There Is Fear, for a discussion on these events). At one point during this period I finally slept around 6 a.m. and woke at 4 p.m. It totally through off my schedule.
Anyway, one of those nights lying sleepless, I began to walk through my early memories. It is not uncommon to hear others describe their first memory. Sometimes it involves a crib and a mother’s face. My early memories have always been a bit vague. On more than one occasion, my dad has accused me of making things up that I swear were true.
I tried to work out which of my memories were earlier than others. Playing with the plastic tug boat in the tub. The sleepover I had with a friend from church. Losing that Minnie Mouse figurine behind the couch. It was hard to stay on track because every memory led to another one that hadn’t come to the forefront of my mind in years. I could easily think of those life changing memories, but my first one was much harder.
After at least an hour of debate, I finally determined that it must be one of the many times I snuck out of my room after being tucked in by my parents. It was after my brother was born, probably between 3 and 5. My room was one of two at the end of a long L-shaped hall. It shared a wall with the living room where my parents spent their evenings watching TV. My dad was probably watching a British comedy because his laughter boomed through the whole house. So, I crawled out of bed and crept along the hallway until I was hiding just on the other side of the wall from the living room. There I would sit sneaking peeks around the corner until I was caught and forced to return to bed.
I was cute when I actually slept.
Even then, I wanted to be a part of the action. That aspect of my personality has not really changed. Part of the reason I am embarking on this adventure is because I want to be a part of the action. There is so much in the world to see and explore and so many people to meet. More than see the world, I want to be a part of it, to live in areas of the world I have never even dreamed of and experience life differently. One of the major lessons I have taken away from seminary is that you can’t change the world from the outside. You have to become a part of a community and experience the problems and then join with the community in working toward a solution. The World Race gives me an opportunity to be a part of the action.
What is your earliest memory and how does it reflect the person you have come to be?
