A friend of mine recently was put in the hospital for Transient Global Amnesia. I can go through the Mayo Clinic diagnosis, which is available online like everything else. My summary from the part I read is that it is amnesia not caused by stroke, epilepsy, diabetes or other identifiable cause. It causes the patient to forget almost everything from some point in his or her near past except basic skills such as speech and other life management. The patient just does not remember a period before a point in time. The condition goes away in a relatively short term of time and the patient regains memory. TGA is a one-time occurrence according to the online information. My friend and I laugh a lot, at each other and with each other. On the phone I told him, "Don't you remember that you are a millionaire? You have competed in Mr. Universe and won? You have perfect health- no diabetes, heart attacks, addictions or insecurities?" He stopped me right there and said, "I don't remember anything Tom, but insecurities I have regained if I never had them before." I wonder if "No regrets" means "No attempts" or that "No regrets" means "All tuition." In Fall and Spring, they have extra semi-trucks at our local Goodwill™ collection locations. People are cleaning out. My wife and I bring boxes of stuff. Clothes, electronics, cords, toys and games. Sometimes we bring treasures and other times we find the indescribable that is in every home and you think there is someone behind the curtain who can fix or assemble your broken junk. We are actually just a little bit happy when there is no one there so that when we drop off bags, boxes and other items we can just lean them against the pile rather than set them on the conveyor belt to go…well, I don't know where. I would rather not watch the process. How come my wife and I drop off stuff at Goodwill™ at least once a month, BOXES of stuff, and we never seem to run out? Do we truly buy and discard so much? Oh yeah, we are Americans, of course we do. My friend got a brief chance to take his memories to the Goodwill™. A chance to change who he remembered himself as. A chance to take the broken parts, the stained and ill-fitting costumes he wears, the junk drawer of the indescribable. All of the closets, attic, basement and garage could be as clean as he wanted. The main rooms he showed everyone were all pretty clean, but every kitchen has a junk drawer and most houses have storage areas where you have to lean against the doors to hold everything in. Therapy is supposed to help you deal with this stuff. I don't want stuff I don't want. I want it gone. I have no desire to open a box I've moved from one apartment or house two to three times all taped up. I want to know that it just needs to go to Goodwill™, have it go and then drop it off. Yes, I have had enough therapy to know that it "makes us who we are." Thanks. I knew that before I came in. For God's sake, I have a television. Almost every program that has a therapy session says that same old trope. I don't really know what are all of the things I want to go to the Goodwill™. Memories are easy I think. Let's start there- 1. Insecurity - Well, that pretty much cleans the house up until tomorrow. 2. Anger - My personal Goodwill™ contribution will look like a heart monitor if it were hooked up to a heavy metal band 3. Envy - My mental schedule for the past forty years has just cleared up for all sporting events that I attended. They are wiped out. I don't think I like this game anymore. I have a lot of regrets, I just do not know how to unpack them. If I could unwind them from the joy, learning, pain that turned into tuition I have given to my children, I would. My friend's life is a shit-show. I know a lot of it, yet he can't clean house. Neither can I. No regrets means no tuition for me. Most of the boxes of Mental Goodwill™ items I just try to keep taped up and stored in the attic. Writing the books causes some climbing and opening the boxes. That’s ok. Near-death experiences gave me a chance to throw away a lot of the stuff from when I was a kid that I was holding on to like keeping old report cards, baseball cards and stuffed bears. I’ll probably die with more boxes than I needed. We all know how this goes. Family comes and cleans out the house. Some things are thrown away, histories are lost, stuff sold and finally a few favorite items pass on. I think that I am supposed to have some poignant and insightful way to end this chapter. I hope I come up with one before this gets printed. It feels a little heavy for me.