The Window

Yesterday I signed up for a new Howard County Library card, cementing my status as a re-established Marylander. Card in hand, I purposefully strolled from the front desk to the Fiction section, as if I already knew what I was looking for (I didn't). I found myself face to face with the "H" shelf and strode to the left until I arrived at the Ks. Something inside me drove my body towards the works of Milan Kundera, although once I arrived there I discovered I'd already read all of the books available (and own a copy of most, as well).

From the Ks, I retraced my steps until I arrived at the Cs, knowing I was in search of something by Michael Chabon. For some reason, the discovery of an almost brand-new copy of "The Yiddish Policeman's Union" caught me by surprise. I snatched it immediately and carried it to the check out desk as if it was a fresh, fragile egg. Elated, I walked out of the library feeling like I'd just won a prize, and in a way I guess I had. This is a book I've been meaning to read for ages, and 24 hours later I was already more than halfway through it -- at once wanting to tear through the remaining pages and also never wanting it to end.

But I still find my thoughts returning to the works of Kundera. So much of his writing is dedicated to the examination of (what I see as) the truth that two people can never share a common memory or even hold true images of each other in their minds. All of our memories of events and people (including ourselves) are tainted by our personalities, desires, and fears. And yet, despite this seemingly insurmountable obstacle that reality places between us all, we form these very real connections and love still blooms.

I'm now living in a place that for a long time was not much more than a memory to me, and I'm simultaneously flooded with a whole new set of memories of another, far off place. I remind myself, and discover reminders everywhere, that the world in my mind and the physical world are not the same place. The act of remembrance is like looking at the world through a window, with the frame blocking part of the view. Living, moving objects are visible, but our minds will never allow us to see the whole thing. Whether it's a memory of a sandwich or a friend, what's in our minds is never what -- at one time -- we found before us.

And so I am all the more amazed at the ease with which two people can remain connected over time and distance. It's a remarkable, apparent simplicity in a very complex world.