The other day I read this: “Yesterday is gone.” Is it? Is the past, past? No.
Nothing is as absurd than the idea that the past doesn’t exist.
Yesterday is not gone. It lives. In your memory. In my memory.
The past is a part of the present. (If you are going to comment on this post, you must go back into the past to remember what I wrote.)
Some peddle the cute idea: forget the past. Okay. Try all you want. Grind your teeth and hold your breath and strain with all your might. Try to forget those most painful words or actions. Try and forget those moments of near bliss.
You might for a minute or two—at best a few hours.
Faulkner was right: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
I prefer to have the past help shape my present, and prepare for my future.
I friend once told me, “The past is a good place to visit, but not a good place to live.” I like that.
The past is here. Now.