Don't be a disaster journalist...

at least when chronicling life, that is.

Today, I was showing my daughter (who is almost a year now - time has the pace of a concord) the pleasure of being thrown up in the air. She was pleasantly surprised as was evident from her smile revealing her two small teeth. There is something in a baby's smile that attracts you like none other - may be its the innocence that they seamlessly possess or maybe its the fact that they are so un-adult (I know, its not a word) like.

The sun was shining bright through the window and its rays ignited a sparkle in her eyes. There it was - a moment I would  like to cherish and store - my daughter and I having a great time together.

But then , the inevitable afterthought had to ruin it for me. In life, we tend to be like disaster journalists when we chronicle our life. Flip through the photos in your mental photo album - have memories of unfortunate events registered  more than the pleasant ones? We tend to remember how friends, kith and kin were mean to us, how we got the short end of the stick in our lives and how hard it is to get through a normal day. When we grow old, will we talk about our kid's rebellion or will we talk about  all the fun time we had with them?

I don't know the answer, but I sure would like to capture the beauty of the moments that were pure joy and bliss, rather than focusing on the spectacle and ruin of moments that I would rather forget. The  truth is that bad moments hit us hard and the more we try to forget them, the more etched they are in our brains. Maybe the key is trying hard to forget the pleasures we own now, thereby digging it deeper into our memories.

BTW, did I tell you about the motorcycle accident I had? Oh wait...