I get a bittersweet sense lately. As a piece of music that must end at some point, our time together is limited.
Guessing that progress is cumulative in some ways. Maybe it also cyclical? I keep coming around again and again to a rash of activities that I seem to be abandoning at the same time. I drop the threads and pick them up again. Then I come around to the other things I dropped again and again.
Author Barbara Sher would say that I'm a scanner.
Perhaps this longing in me comes from words being sequential - we can't say it all at one time because we don't have the shorthand concepts to encompass it all in entirety. So we can only discuss pieces of the whole story, the whole life.
Used to think that I could bring someone I knew up to speed on my life - to fill them in on what has been happening. I'm beginning to realize that I can never do that. I've experienced too much.
Reminds me of the story called "Smoke of Memories" written by Jorje Borges about a young boy who has decided to isolate himself; he wants no more experiences because he has a photographic memory and his mind has filled up to the brim.