As a kid, I remember being fascinated by echoes. I loved them; we'd stand on the edge of the cliffs in our little town of Berowra, and yell to the valley.
Depending on which way you threw your voice, it would take longer or shorter to come back. (I know what you're thinking, but there was PLENTY to do in Berowra.)
It wasn't just that I loved the sound of my own voice, though that is a popular rumour and a wild misunderstanding. It was that I loved the idea of throwing something out and having it come back to me. It was like an audible boomerang. If I threw it out loud and proud, it would effect how the sound returned to my ears. The bonus was, it kept resounding (though it deteriorated pretty quickly.)
As I have gotten older 'I've started to realise that those valleys outside my house, weren't the only place that echoed. Books, both ancient and modern; hold echoes. It is that feeling you get when you've experienced something before, though you haven't; it's an echo. The warm fuzzies of nostalgia; more echoes.
I want to get better at watching for the echoes of life because in my thirty-three years I have realised that they are some of lifes most incredible pleasures. They are, 'blink, and you miss them' moments. It may be that journaling has helped, but honestly, coming back to New Zealand has helped. I'm remembering dreams, some of which were fleeting, but they seem to be coming back to life. Things that I thought were dead, or gone, are flowing back into our lives.
The echoes are a reminder that there is something bigger going on around us, but that we are a part of. They are a reminder that just as the universe doesn't revolve around you, you matter within it. It does reflect around you.
I'm finally beginning to embrace the echoes.