The Small Details
Occasionally I wait until the last moment to complete a task and then I wonder why I sense a rush. Maybe it's a way to force the days to last longer. What happens to all the small actions we perform during the day?
We recall the large events, the momentous moments-- but what about the inconsequential, the repetitive motions of every day. Where do they go? We can't hold everything in memory and why recall every detail of each day? But if something isn't recalled did it really happen?
In 1972 Reverend Robert Shields started measuring his life and writing the minutia of his day. He stopped every five minutes to write --until a stoke in 1997 made it impossible to continue. At that point 37.5 million words sat in 94 boxes. His wife, after a short period of time, refused to take dictation.
According to a 1994 interview he said that stopping would be akin to " turning off his life." He even recorded his body temperature and blood pressure daily. It's hard to imagine how his wife and daughters managed.
The good Reverend couldn't release minutia--everything was important and needed to be noted. According to a New York Times article he wrote on one of six typewriters --" migrating from machine to machine."
Perhaps forgetting the small details is a blessing.
We recall the large events, the momentous moments-- but what about the inconsequential, the repetitive motions of every day. Where do they go? We can't hold everything in memory and why recall every detail of each day? But if something isn't recalled did it really happen?
In 1972 Reverend Robert Shields started measuring his life and writing the minutia of his day. He stopped every five minutes to write --until a stoke in 1997 made it impossible to continue. At that point 37.5 million words sat in 94 boxes. His wife, after a short period of time, refused to take dictation.
According to a 1994 interview he said that stopping would be akin to " turning off his life." He even recorded his body temperature and blood pressure daily. It's hard to imagine how his wife and daughters managed.
The good Reverend couldn't release minutia--everything was important and needed to be noted. According to a New York Times article he wrote on one of six typewriters --" migrating from machine to machine."
Perhaps forgetting the small details is a blessing.
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