My greatest fear is not being remembered.
It's why I write. It's why I publish. But frankly, it is exhausting.
It is exhausting to worry that just being me isn't enough to leave a memory. Am I so boring in person that my family wouldn't recall a joke, a smile, the fact that I won't get out of bed in the morning? Wouldn't they remember I played the King of the Rats when I was in the school production of The Pied Piper of Hamlin because I was the only one who used a special, extra-rat-like voice when I auditioned?
Don't I believe in people -- in my friends, in the readers of this blog -- that they would remember me if I missed a week? That they would know that I was still there even if I forgot the text or the phone call or the post?
To live a day without this fear, I need to trust that the people who know me, who like me, who read me, will come back even if I miss a week or hit a boring spell, because they will remember that once -- once -- I said something interesting.
I don't know why I have such arrogance that I want so to be remembered. But like the photographer who misses the fireworks trying to get the shot, sometimes I miss the moment because I'm writing it in my head as it plays out.
Because I'm afraid that I -- or they -- won't remember it.
(Editor's Note: This post was written from a writing prompt given at Blissdom conference this week. The prompt: What is your greatest fear? What would it be like to live a day without it?)
