Remembering Our Own Lives
I saw a thought recently that said our generation may remember more about other people’s lives than our own.
Not because we weren’t living,
but because we were watching so much of life through a screen.
It stayed with me.
I realised how easily I can recall moments from people I’ve never met. Their stories, their milestones, their days. Yet when I try to remember my own, they sometimes blur. Not because they weren’t meaningful, but because I wasn’t always fully present to hold them.
As a memory keeper, that truth felt tender.
My phone has always been close. For work, for connection, for creativity. Not from comparison or judgement, just habit. Just being human in this time. But somewhere along the way, I started documenting life for output rather than for myself.
That realisation became a gentle nudge.
To slow down.
To look up more often.
To write things down again.
To capture my own life, not for sharing, but for remembering.
2026 feels like a quiet shift.
A year of analogue moments. Of pen on paper. Of photographs taken with care and kept close. Of noticing the small, ordinary days that make a life.
Not from guilt.
Not from fear.
And not from judgement.
Just from a desire to remember my own life as it’s happening.
Because memory keeping was never about showing the world.
It was always about staying present in our own.
