Forgetting to Remember: A Conversation with the Self

Forgetting to Remember
by Being Human

During a moment of patience,
I had a moment of remembering –
of who I am, and where.

A whisper in the ache:
Yesterday can be now,
especially
when I’m forgetting,
when I’m broken.

And when I’m broken,
I climb inside –
pen in hand,
pages like open arms.

Thoughts scattered like grains of sand.
Emotions like the ocean, lapping the shore.
Swimming in a tide of feeling –
a journal for a surfboard,
my voice a novice,
the listeners my instructor.

Here in this sea of self,
the ink becomes a compass.
And in forgetting,
I remember.

Forgetting to Remember: A Conversation with the Self

Sometimes, the remembering only arrives when we’ve forgotten long enough. Forgotten who we are. Forgotten where we’ve come from. Forgotten what still matters, underneath all the noise.

I sat in stillness recently – just a breath, just a pause – and suddenly, it arrived. A flicker of remembrance. The kind that doesn’t speak in words but in sensations. Ground. Breath. Presence.

“During a moment of patience,
I had a moment of remembering of who and where I am…”

There’s something sacred in forgetting. It humbles us. Breaks us open. And if we allow it, it leads us gently back to ourselves – not through force, but through surrender.

When I am broken, I don’t resist the cracks. I climb inside. Pen in hand, my journal beneath me like a surfboard, I ride the waves. Emotions come like tides – lapping, crashing, retreating – and somehow, in that messy ocean of self, I write.

I don’t always know what I’m saying. I don’t always recognise the voice. But I listen. Because maybe the listeners – the parts of me I forgot – are here to remind me how to begin again.

So, if you find yourself forgetting, let it be an opening. Let it be the gentle invitation to remember not with your mind, but with your whole being.

Come home through the softness. Write your way there.