Personal Response to "A Sketch of the Past"

Memory is an illusive, ephemeral thing and something all writers struggle with in trying to recount anything from personal experience. At some point all your memories fade to the point of being impressions, remnants of the strongest sense memories and cognitive memories attached to an event or period of time. Woolf muses that our memories of childhood are strongest because as a child we are the “container of the feeling of ecstasy, of the feeling of rapture…Later we add to feelings much that makes them more complex; and therefore less strong; or if not less strong, less isolated, less complete” (A Sketch 2158). I feel that this is true of my experiences with childhood memories, that there are certain experiences where my emotions were so pure and so raw and my confusion over them left an indelible impression on me lasting throughout the years.

First memories however do not provide the complete picture of ones life, for as Woolf put it, “the things one does not remember are as important; perhaps they are more important. If I could remember one whole day I should be able to describe, superficially at least, what life was like as a child. Unfortunately, one only remembers what is exceptional. And there seems to be no reason why one thing is exceptional and another not” (2159). For every moment, every event, every impression that I can recall there are innumerable ones touching and surrounding it that shaped and influenced those impressions yet remain unknown to me. They reside in the confines of the unconscious, moving me in ways I cannot comprehend or feel directly, but their influence stretches out over time to make the hair stand up on the back of my neck or to coerce a smile onto my face.