You Don’t Have Memories to Look Back on Today


Jake Christie
Published in
3 min readFeb 22, 2016


You didn’t go to that concert that you wanted to check out. Instead, you went to a party where your friend said you would get “100%” laid, “guaranteed.”

You got 0% laid. You went home and watched an episode of something on Netflix at 4 am.


Your mother invited you out to brunch, but you told her you were “too tired.” You were not too tired; you just didn’t want to explain to your mom, again, that being single is a choice, not a condition.

Whatever you did instead — probably involving some combination of Hot Pockets, situation comedy reruns, and masturbation (though not necessarily concurrently) — is lost to the winds of time.


A bear in the Alaskan wilderness has recently given birth to three cubs.

It was a hard year; there were fewer salmon in the rivers than there were in years past, and harsh weather meant fewer berries in the fall. She is gaunt, skinny—the fur hangs on her like an oversized hand-me-down parka. All of her energy, now, goes to her cubs. Her milk is the only thing that is keeping them alive, and it has to last until spring. She will emerge as soon as she can, hoping to find a deer that fell victim to the cold during the winter, so she can replenish her body and feed her cubs enough to survive.

For now, huddled in her den with her three tiny, still-blind offspring, she can only take things one day at a time. Sleep. Conserve her energy. Keep them alive.

You don’t remember what you did.


People in China who never created Facebook accounts figured out how to make the moldboard iron plough.

13,000,000,000,000 YEARS AGO TODAY

Mostly space.

You can’t remember what was happening, exactly, because you weren’t there. And it would be great to know—there’s a little FOMO—but you don’t, and that’s okay.

It was — and still is—mostly space. You’ll be fine.