When Relentlessness Pays (Off).
Several summers ago, my friend and I happened upon an abandoned museum in the Catskill mountains, filled to the brim with dusty relics of past lives. Photo albums of black and white photographs no larger than single thumbnails, of children frolicking in the snow, of farmers working tirelessly in the summer heat, of women in turtleneck blouses sitting perfectly upright as if yoga was a thing of their past. We devoured the place, running fingertips across dusty surfaces while making up stories to match the faceless objects: wheelchairs reminiscent of fireside chats, aged maps resembling childhood treasure islands, wooden boxes with carved messages to the "angels above." I'll never forget that warm summer day, in part, because of the abundance of mystery that encompassed so many people's histories confined to a single moment in a small, deserted room that seemed only meant for us. And, if given the chance to know who those people were and what those things meant to them, I'm not sure I would seize that opportunity, especially if it meant changing the way I remember my own past. Enjoy.
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