A memory randomly and often comes back to me.
I am nine years old. It is Christmas. Every other child is dressed as an angel or Santa.
I am wearing a green satin onesie with decorative balls hanging off it.
I am the Christmas tree.
I remember actually being excited about this. The Christmas tree felt like the main character to me.
Then I walked into that room and the execution failed terribly.
I don’t remember the exact moment it turned, but I remember the feeling. That specific, sinking embarrassment of realising the vision in your head and the reality you’re standing in are two very different things.
And the rented satin didn’t help.
Isn’t it strange that certain memories don’t behave like memories? They behave like something that is still happening.
Twenty-something years later, my body produces that embarrassment on cue — efficiently, loyally, and without being asked.
Most of us have one of these, I guess. The thing you said in class that landed wrong. The outfit. The moment you misread the room completely.
It arrives uninvited, usually when you’re in the shower, or almost asleep, and delivers that same small sting.
For a long time I’d just let it. But recently, in one of those half-awake daydreams, a different thought showed up:
My MOM thought this was a great idea.
A Christmas tree, why not? It made complete sense to her.
That’s not embarrassing. That’s original thinking. And I’m only now starting to appreciate it.
Is there a memory that still arrives uninvited?
