I understand “white space” in design. But I’d never thought about white space in my life until I read Sarah Selecky’s post today. She says:

In a short story, a white space is placed between scenes to signal a moment of reflection. It’s there to give you a moment to digest the scene that just finished, and it often makes that last sentence before the space ring out with effect. You can linger there as long as you like to make some sense of what you just read.

The white space lets you linger so you can experience what just happened.

White space is a perfect partner for my one word, solitude.

 

I’ve always thought of myself as a patient person, though recently I’ve realized, um, maybe not.

A chronic digestive issue has about worn me out. Over the past few years, I’ve tried various routines in hopes of fixing it and living a normal life. But I never seem to give the programs much of a chance. After three or four days with no improvement, I’d say, “See, it’s not the gluten. Give me a roll!” or “Well, it can’t be dairy. I want ice cream.”

Finally a month ago, I told myself a little self-control might be necessary. And though this particular diet isn’t any fun, it seems to be working. No dairy, no sugar, no wheat, no bad fat, no alcohol, no chocolate, no fruit juices, no corn, no tomato sauce, and limited raw vegetables. I know. What’s left?

When I first started, the hardest food item to give up was Gummy Bears. Yes, ever since I spent three years in Germany as a teenager, I’ve been addicted. But I think I’ve finally moved past my craving.

I’m hoping I won’t need to give up everything forever, but I am giving it enough time to give my belly a rest. And if I do need to give it up for good, I will.

There must be a life lesson in this somewhere.

I pull the noodles from the cabinet, realizing I have forgotten to buy the sauce. I pass a friend on the street I haven’t seen for two or three years, her name lost. I repeat an anecdote I’ve used before-perhaps twice.

This slow creeping of forgetfulness terrifies me, almost more than coming down with a serious illness. After all, what can you do but forget?

Often, my mother’s memory issues make me even more anxious about mine. I see my future. Yet, she handles this loss so gracefully.

“Oh you know I forget things these days,” she says. I, on the other hand, beat myself up as if it’s a personal flaw, and to make things worse, anxiety contributes to memory loss, too.

Our brains are funny things, aren’t they? We remember our favorite childhood book, forget where we put the keys to the car, and ruminate over issues over which we have no control. Environment, trauma, and mood all contribute to how much we remember and how we process information.

One interesting fact-much of what we attribute to memory loss is really a lack of paying attention. As we age, multi-tasking and/or over stimulus means much of this flows in and out, never really embedding itself.

Advice? I plan to continue relaxation techniques, reading, and trying to sleep well. Also, keeping a daily journal helps. Giving up social media and spending more time outside are on my list.  And, hey, there’s always this:

“The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

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