Where the Wild Things Are: Memories That Carry Us
When life gets hard, memories become shelter. This post reflects on how the smallest moments become our true wealth, why we must withhold judgement, and how serving others - even while we wait for answers - gives life meaning.
We often thing of being rich as a number in a bank account - hopefully with lots and lots of zeros. And yes, money can buy comforts: vacations, fewer worries about budgets, the freedom to say “yes” to things without checking a price. I’ve made a lot of money in my life, and I’ve learned that being responsible with it is a different lesson entirely. The more money you have, the more complicated life can become. It can make us selfish. It can strain relationships. It can change who we are.
But some of the richest people I know aren’t defined by balances or possessions. They’re defined by the small, brilliant things that make life worth living: a hand held at the right moment, a child’s laugh, a song that takes you back to a summer afternoon. Those memories are true currency when everything else falls away.
Memories get us through hard times. When grief lands heavy, when illness reshapes a life, when door close or plans fall apart, memory becomes the shelter we can step into. Close your eyes and you can visit a kitchen where a joke was told, smell a parent’s perfume, remember the exact way someone looked at you before they were gone. Those moments feed resilience. They remind us that we have been loved, that we have loved, and that beauty touched our days. So be thankful.
There are people who don’t have those memories, or who’ve lost them. I’ve never lost mine, but as a first responder I’ve witnessed how memory - and the lack of it - affects over ones and the person themselves. It’s heartbreaking. So again: be thankful, be kind, and realize the small things we don’t think about until they are gone.
While we’re struggling, it helps to remember that someone else’s struggle may look very different from our own. There are parents who can’t imagine a moment without their child - until a scooter ride, an ordinary morning, becomes a life-altering emergency. There are families who discover a sudden illness in a child who was healthy yesterday and now faces treatments that steal little joys. There are people born with conditions that shape how they move, see, or think; young people in school who want to belong but feel left out because their experience of the world is different.
I’ve been harassed, discriminated against, belittled, and misunderstood because of the way I think and process the world. It is not easy to be understood or accepted, and that pain is real. We may never fully understand another person’s day, but we can respect them and hold space for them.
Because memories matter for everyone. They are not a luxury. For someone who can no longer speak, memory may be the language they share through a look, a gesture, or a photograph. For someone whose body is limited, memory may be a doorway back to joy. When we make room for others’ experiences - when we listen, ask, and include - we create more chances for those moments to be made and held.
Enjoying the little things is not trivial. It is a lifeline. A morning coffee in sunlight, the warmth of a blanket, the chirp of a neighbor’s bird - these are the threads that stitch days together. When we cultivate gratitude for the ordinary and name the small joys out loud, we build a store of gentle memories that can sustain us. Richness is not measured only in money; it is measured in moments - in memories that remind us who we are and who we love.
With that perspective comes humility. We do not know everything another person is carrying. A hurried glance, a curt word, an unexpected reaction - any of these might be a sign of private pain. The best response is to withhold judgement, offer kindness, and assume we’re seeing only part of someone’s story. Your smile, your kindness, your listening could save a life that day. We all struggle. People suffer in silence, and that needs to change. We need more kindness, more love. Once peace and joy are found, you won’t be able to live without them.
There is a simple, practical faith to living this way. As a quote I once read puts it, “what do waiters do? they serve.” We are called to serve - not as a burden but as a practice. Serving others while we wait for answers helps move us from self-absorption to purpose. Sometimes it’s frustrating to not have what you want when you want it. Sometimes answers don’t come on our timetable. Serve while life unfolds its mysteries, and you’ll find alignment with something larger than your immediate wants.
If you hold religious faith, you might see this as aligning with God’s timing: what He wants, when He wants it. You are part of that unfolding - a tool in the hands of something greater, shaped and used to bring comfort and growth to others. If faith language isn’t your language, there’s a secular equivalent: you’re part of a web of relationships, and each exchange can heal or harm. Choose healing. There’s a ripple effect: heal someone who will be inspired to heal another.
Finding yourself and being yourself is not opposed to serving others. The two reinforce one another. When you tend your own wounds and collect your own pockets of joy, you bring more patience and compassion into the world. Memories inform why you care; service expresses that care.
A few ways to practice this:
Reach out to someone who may be carrying a heavy load. Ask how they are - and then listen.
Offer a small, practical act of service: bring a meal, make a phone call, volunteer your time
Withhold judgement. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
Share a memory with someone - stories heal and connect.
If our foundation can help, we’d love to hear your stories. Share a memory with our community, join a volunteer day, or support programs that create moments others can hold onto. Together w can make the richness of life - the true wealth of memories - more available top those whose hardships make small comforts priceless.
Memory is a quiet kind of riches. When we invest in it - by noticing, by holding, by serving - we not only survive our hardest days; we grow into the people others can depend on. Be kind. Be present. Serve while you wait. Carry your memories like a lantern through the dark.
xoxo,
-shiftmomunfiltered
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