One Hundred Lives

Sometimes I feel like I’ve lived 100 lives already.

And it has to do both with my life circumstances and the people in it.

I’ll be here, in the present of my current life, and someone will say something that reminds me of someone I used to be. And then I have to decide. Do I share the memory? Just move on?

I had a psychiatrist appointment this week (which, as always, deserves a whole post of its own) and she started off our conversation by saying that her office was cold but she felt it was too early in the season to turn on the heat. This immediately flashed me back to the time I was in the Republic of Georgia (part of the former USSR) in the late fall and we were so cold the entire time because there is a specific date on which their heat is turned on.

So then, on this virtual call with my psychiatrist (which I take in my office, by the way, so I’m discussing my work-life balance and mental health six feet and one wall from my boss because I like to keep things interesting) I’m left to decide: tell this sweet woman about my experience in Eastern Europe and have to explain why I was there in the first place (I was on a rock tour, but that’s rarely enough of an explanation for most people) or just let it go?

I used to say these things more frequently because I felt like it helped people to get to know me. But as I gather more of these memories, it feels less and less possible to actually tell all these stories to people.

And speaking of people, I just have had so many people in my life!

I posted a question on Facebook this week simply because I was curious about the answers I would get, and suddenly my boss from my college summer job is interacting with my worship co-leader at my current church and they’re sharing rock song suggestions. (Which seems like it would be a great time for a rock tour story, don’t you think?) I know these people, and I have memories with them, but they’ll never know each other, or even care to, necessarily.

My 100 lives crisscross sometimes, but the only common denominator across all of them is me. And that feels…strange? lonely? mysterious? I’m not actually sure how I feel (shocking, I know.) But it’s causing me to think; I cannot be the only one who experiences this.

Do you ever feel this way? And if so, what do you do?