Thursday, August 27, 2009

system restore?

My computer had a problem getting started this morning. Instead of flawlessly executing its boot up process, it gave me only a dark, dead screen. So, I instituted Emergency Procedure 1, which involves repeated pushing of the On button, and muttering bad words under my breath. Either or both acts yielded results, though. I eventually saw a lot of lines of light gray gibberish on a sickly blue screen, which loosely translated to "you screwed up your computer; do you want it to try to fix itself?" Well, yes, I did!

So, several minutes of computer self diagnostics ensued; which may have boiled down to "If I can drag this out long enough, maybe this incompetent moron will go away and leave me alone", the computer popped up a message asking if I wanted it to restore the system back to an earlier date, one in which everything was still working fine, but I would lose none of my data and memories. Why, of course! Yes, yes, a thousand times, YES!

While waiting for the computer to sort itself out, I began thinking what a truly wonderful idea this was. Apparently the computer sort of takes snapshots at intervals, and basically rolls back time to before things got all FUBAR'd. Wouldn't it be great if we could do the same thing with our lives? In our minds, we have lots of memories cached; some good, some bad, some vital, some trivial. But there is that one special file, which holds special memories like a treasured photo album. Those once in a lifetime memories, that never fail to quicken our hearbeats and moisten our eyes with tears of happiness.

It might have been your high school graduation night, and the feel of that rolled parchment diploma in your hand as you walked from the stage amid the applause of family and friends. Maybe it was your wedding day, when that cold gold circlet slipped upon your 4th finger, and suddenly became warm with the blood that pulsed from your pounding heart. Gosh, so many different memories; the first time you felt your baby kick; the first time that you held him/her in your arms, with your hands trembling and tears silvering your cheeks. The smile on your husband's face, as he walks in from work, all rough and scruffy, holding his hard hat, his tool belt jingling with each step. Maybe it was a cool spring day, when you walked in a garden with your mother, and she stops to smile at you, and tell you how proud she is of the woman you've become. Or the evening you watched your daughter walk across a stage with a rolled diploma in her hand, the hems of her gown and the tassel of her cap ruffling with her steps, as she takes her first step into an uncharted future. Or 2 years later, when you see her dressed in hospital scrubs, calmly and competently caring for an injured person. Maybe it was the first time you held your grandchild in your arms, and your heart swelled once again with wonder at the perfection of a child, and at the incredible pride you feel in your daughter as she takes on the responsibilities of motherhood.

Of course, the happy files are only part of our lives. There are hard times, frightened times, times of exhaustion and despair, and times that hurt so bad that you fold them away and lock them deep inside a vault, so that you can bear to put one foot after another and continue life. If we could roll back to a restore point, wouldn't that be fantastic? To stand once again on firm ground, and take a different route, one that would lead away from disaster. To say the kind word, instead of the hurtful ones. To do the right thing, instead of the horrible mistake. To stop a loved one from stepping into harm; to do the courageous deed, instead of the coward's silence. To never be haunted by "what if..., and if only....".

Unfortunately, we don't have the option of rolling back time. The only thing we can change is today; the past is carved in stone, and the future is being written with every moment that unfurls. We can learn from the past, though. If we stop and look back from time to time, we can see if the path we have left is straight, or if it is meandering aimlessly. We can look forward, and choose the next step we will take, and make sure that it is leading to where we want to go.

So, my computer is now happily processing along, as if nothing had happened. And while I might sometimes envy it for having a re-writable memory and a file delete option, I also know that it is just an inanimate object, without the capacity to know joy or sorrow, or to learn and grow from both. I think, in the long run, humans may have the best deal, after all.

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