As I have gotten older I find I spend more time in my memories. It’s what you do when you spend time with your grandchildren. You tell them about when their parents were growing up. And, at the risk of really sounding ancient, you tell them about your own childhood and experience their incredulous expressions of disbelief.
Sometimes, a vague sense comes over me that I might not be remembering an actual memory of my past, but rather a memory of a dream. Not the kind of dream that pushes you to do, have, or be, but the kind you actually live in your sleep.
One particular “memory”, which is not really a good one, has haunted me for a very long time. It surfaced maybe twenty years ago. If it is indeed a memory it surely explains a lot of why I feel the way I do about some things. If it was a dream, I find myself wondering why I would have dream’t such a disturbing event in my life.
In the end, we are the product of our environment and it really doesn’t matter if the “memory” is one that has been dormant or if it is actually a dream because it becomes part of us anyway.
What shapes our personality is the good and bad experiences we live through. Understanding our past helps us in our present and future if we are wise enough to learn from these past experiences. Often our dreams are just a way to show us our fears which we need to face so we don’t become crippled by them.