Fourteen years ago, Elysha and I had a disagreement over a crock pot. We had recently bought our home and were merging our belongings, and the issue of my crock pot arose.
Specifically, Elysha took inappropriate, unwarranted, and unilateral action against my beloved crock pot.
I wrote about that moment, and 5,232 days later, I revisited this moment, which is one of the beauties of writing:
You get to read about a previous time in your life, and almost instantaneously, you’re transported back, occupying that moment in your heart and mind with near-perfect clarity.
A day once lost is now returned. The past and the present collide. I revel in the days of yore.
I also get to acknowledge that fourteen years later, I’m still right, and Elysha is still wrong.
The one aspect of the story lost to time – unless Elysha remembers – is the name of the person who gave me the fabled crock pot, which is quite the mystery given her animosity toward the person (as you’ll see below).
The lesson here:
Write. Create a record of life’s most precious and even slightly precious moments. Give your future self the treasure of memory. Stop throwing away your days like they are meaningless. Cling to them. Preserve them for thousands of days later.
Had I not written about the Great Crock Pot Scandal of 2010, that moment would’ve been lost to me forever. Instead, it returns to life today, for me to enjoy, for my kids to hear, and for Elysha to finally acknowledge the error of her ways.
I’m so grateful to that previous version of myself for taking care of his future self.
Thanks, Matt. You’re the best.
UPDATE: Elysha Dicks remembers who gave me the crockpot. It was a cowardly, monstrous human being who tried and failed to do real damage to my life and career while hiding behind the pathetic curtain of anonymity.
So yeah, I guess she was right after all.
Here is what I wrote 5,232 days ago:
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Elysha on Facebook: Does anyone local want a perfectly good but sort of old-school crock pot? It works totally fine but was given to my husband by someone I really don’t like, and I can’t enjoy a meal made in that thing.
Me, in response: My wife has systematically eliminated everything I initially contributed to our household. The crock pot, which I didn’t mind even though I can’t stand the person either, was one of the last hold-outs—the last vestige of my bachelorhood. I think the only thing left is a paper towel holder. I’m clinging to it with all my might.
Me again: And you know, it’s not cool just offering my crock pot to your Facebook friends. Shouldn’t I have some say in its future since it’s MINE?
Elysha: Actually, he did use it a few times this past year to make beef stew… Still, I feel no remorse about giving away his stupid crock pot.
A friend, responding with advice to Elysha: Maybe you should offer something of yours up to throw away as a peace offering.
Elysha: Um. No.
Later that night, Elysha told me that I could choose the shelter where the crock pot would be sent, but that would be the extent of my part in the decision-making process.
