Chapter 21: Different, Memorable Days

You know what’s weird? That so many of the days in our lives fade into oblivion.

When we’re living a day, every part of it seems important. Of course we’ll remember it.

But we won’t. Most of them, anyway.

If we live 50 years, we’ll struggle to remember 50 days. I’ve been alive for over 25,000 days, but I’d need to sit with a notebook for hours to document one percent of them.

Nebraska Sunset

Which days will we remember?

The different ones.

Different because they’re terrible. Days of loss. Days of failure. Days of humiliation. Days of devastating news. Days of physical or emotional agony. Days of overwhelming loneliness or excruciating disappointment.

Or different because they were wonderful. Days of love (all kinds). Days of achievement. Days of victory. Days of pride. Days of belonging. Days of warm comfort or exhilarating fulfillment.

Does it matter if we remember any of them? I mean, they’re gone. Who cares?

Yet, maybe remembering them is telling us something. That they are important. That they do matter. And that we should try to make more (good) memorable days.

How?

One way is to leave our comfort zone and do something different. Go places we’ve never been. Talk to people we’ve never met. Try things we’ve never tried.

Creating memorable days wasn’t the purpose of my trip, but it was an inevitable byproduct of doing something different. I had never taken a solo trip around the country seeking great teachers, former students, and rims with no nets.

But the alone time brought multiple memories of the worst and best of times. During the long stretches of highway, I’d naturally reflect on freshly gathered stories. But my mind also traveled back in time to memorable days, both bad and good.

I invite you to follow me and make a list of both ends of the spectrum. I bet, like me, your most memorable bad days came about as part of being alive in this imperfect world. Some were a part of transition and growth. Others happened totally unexpectedly, sometimes shockingly unexpectedly:

Worst days:

• My horrific last high school basketball game, a loss mostly because I missed 13 of the 15 shots I took.

• Feeling utterly alone on my first day in the military, stationed in what felt (at the time) like an alien world—western South Dakota.

• Dad unexpectedly dying after a botched open-heart surgery.

• When my brother, JT, was killed in a freak accident just a week after we had a fun phone conversation about his future.

• Stroking Kihei on our bed after the vet put her to sleep for the last time.

  Best Days:

• Seeing my name on the list of players who made my college basketball team. When I shared it with JT, he said, “Life ain’t all bad.”

• Kissing my (future) wife for the first time and returning to my camp cabin in a giddy haze, knowing that my life had just changed (and begun).

• A tie. March 25, 1983 and October 17, 1986—my daughters’ birthdays.

• My first day as a teacher, as a 30-year-old, knowing I’d finally found my lane.

• Leaving the park, in the dark, with my granddaughters Coale and Dwyn, assured that they (and now my grandson, Kane) will bring me joy the rest of my life.

Your turn.

Sunrise in Utah