Prioritizing Memories

Mitch Arnold • December 6, 2025

I lost two uncles in twelve days last month, the second passing away hours after we buried his younger brother. Neither death was particularly surprising, as they were 79 and 84, and struggling with their health. Still, even though we sensed that the end was near, the suddenness with which it occurred was jarring.


Most of don’t spend much time thinking about the end – not just the end of our lives, but of the lives around us – and that’s probably a good thing. What isn’t good is thinking we have unlimited time, and wasting the days we have with each other. Though we shouldn’t dwell in morbidity, we also shouldn’t squander opportunities to make memories with those who are important to us.


Just a few short months ago, Lynda and I made a trip to Ord to see my now deceased uncles. With travel, that effort consumed most of a Saturday, but it was one of the best Saturdays I’ve had in a while. I enjoyed it so much that, as we drove back, I told Lynda that we should plan to do it again next summer. Unfortunately, there won’t be a next trip to see those two. That’s a sad fact, but I’m thankful for the memories we made on that trip, memories that will stick with me for the rest of my life, and I’m thankful that I didn’t put off the trip.


Daily life often gets in the way of living life. We fill our days with have-tos and need-tos, often running at a frenzied pace that clouds the beauty around us, but how much of that do we really have to or need to do? How much will matter when we look back on our years?


Coincidentally, when I returned from the first funeral, my 24-year-old daughter showed me a plastic bag of my childhood memories that she had uncovered while looking for something else. In the bag were things that I had stashed away because they were important to me at that time in my life. A lot of the memorabilia was related to various family vacations we took in the early 1980s. Back then, if you wanted to capture a memory, you could take a picture with an old camera, hope that you got it right and wait until you got the pictures back from a developer or you could buy a 20-cent postcard and grab some free brochures. I did a lot of the latter, and had loaded that bag with brochures and postcards from places like Reptile Gardens and Wall Drug in South Dakota. Also in the bag were trading cards from movies and television programs like Grease, The Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas, and obscure sports cards with no market value. While I enjoyed a few minutes of flipping through stuff I hadn’t seen in decades, it mostly just obscured more meaningful memories.


Among the clutter were autographs I had collected from my sports idols, postcards a friend sent to me with notes from her travels, a letter that another friend wrote to me while undergoing treatment for leukemia and a prayer card from his funeral just a few months later. On the lighter side, I had stashed away a citation awarded to me by a Loup City policeman in recognition of my efforts with an ill-advised fireworks display on the last day of my eighth-grade year! My daughter particularly enjoyed that one.


As I browsed through the contents of the bag, I created three piles on my desk: definitely keep, maybe keep and probably throw away. I also thought about how I would feel if I were to go through the bag in my golden years, which are getting closer every year. If the important things were still obscured by the junk, would I just throw the whole thing away without even looking for those treasures? That motivated me to focus on what will always matter – memories tied to people.


Sadly, I hadn’t visited Ord for years, but last week, I made my third trip of the year there to celebrate my uncle’s life, like I had just a couple of weeks earlier for his younger brother’s funeral. While the last two trips were for somber occasions, I’m glad that I didn’t skip the first one. I had other things to do that Saturday, but nothing more important than making memories with loved ones.


photo above, July 2025:
my dad Harold on the left, his oldest brother Roger (middle), and next oldest brother Don (right)

Cherish Your Memories and Applaud the Success of Others

By Mitch Arnold • September 27, 2026
Recently, one of my friends completed a hike of the Appalachian Trail, 2198 miles of mountain paths from Georgia to Maine. He hiked almost continuously from March 31 to September 17, wearing the shoes of his son who passed away unexpectedly late last year. Not only is my friend an intensely driven and passionate individual, he is also a talented photographer who has crafted a career around his art. He used that talent to document his journey, capturing views that most eyes will never see and small wonders that most would miss. As I followed his adventures online, I felt wonder and awe, as well as gratitude that I could witness something that I will never see in person. Life is like that. Few of us will ever do everything we want to do, and we’ll watch from the sidelines as others enjoy something that we can only dream of. The trick is to do that without jealousy and envy, which are the thieves of gratitude and peace, and it’s something that I occasionally struggle with. Sometimes it seems that almost everywhere I look I am reminded of things beyond my reach. From my social media feeds to the walls in my house, reminders of dreams cut short threaten to haunt me, if I let them. With the help of some enthusiastic friends and the patience of an accommodating wife, I enjoyed several good years of pursuing my passion for hunting. Before my disability took that away from me, I was blessed to hunt in Africa and Canada, as well as many amazing places in the United States. The trophies that hang on my wall fill me with memories that I am thankful to have, but there are also blank spots that I had envisioned filling with more trophies. They remind me that I can no longer hunt like that. My social media feeds reinforce that frustration. Not only do I see friends enjoying their hunts and outfitters with whom I have hunted guiding smiling clients to their dreams, I am also a member of several online communities who share the same passion. There, I see trophy rooms that I dreamed of having and hunts I dreamed of experiencing. Where I once looked for inspiration and ideas, I now see a fantasy world. Then, there are the travel posts, like my friend’s trek on the Appalachian Trail. I see people standing on mountain tops, rafting on rivers and exploring the coastline of Greece – all things that I wish that I could do. Sadly, that world no longer exists for me, and that makes it all the more important that I be grateful for what I have and rejoice in the successes of others. I am learning to look past the blank spots on my walls and instead focus on the trophies that I am very fortunate to have. Why spend time and emotion on what I don’t have when I can appreciate all that I do have? Likewise, why waste energy on jealousy and envy when I can look with wonder and awe on the experiences of others?  No matter who you are, what you have and what you have been blessed to experience, there is someone who would like to walk in your shoes, if only occasionally, and they would be truly puzzled if you weren’t filled with gratitude. Just as important, experience as much of this life as you possibly can and share your experiences with others. Lastly, don’t torment yourself by worrying about things beyond your reach. Be thankful and rejoice in your life and the lives around you.

But, Could It Be Better?

By Mitch Arnold • July 26, 2026
When facing challenging situations, my go-to response is often “it could be worse.” It’s raining: it could be worse. We could be scooping this stuff. It’s hot outside: it could be worse. At least we have air conditioning. The “it could be worse” response is a simple and common way of putting things into perspective, summoning at least a modicum of gratitude and showing the absurdity of petty complaining. Unfortunately, it can also blind us to the potential of “it could be better.” I say it aloud frequently when I am with people, but I also mutter “it could be worse,” to myself when I am alone and struggling with my mobility. That simple phrase has brought me peace and acceptance, as I have experienced progressive physical challenges throughout most of my entire adult life. While things could definitely be worse, and I’m right to summon gratitude when negativity creeps in, I was recently reminded that sometimes things could be better, and if that’s possible, I should do everything I can to make them better. For more than 40 years, I have lifted weights five to six times per week, and that has allowed me to maintain a fairly active lifestyle, but lifting alone isn’t cutting it anymore. Despite frequent exercise, I have struggled to get around more than usual for the past year or so, and that has made my world even smaller. Despite this, I persisted with a positive attitude and told myself, “it could be worse.” Not until the discomfort and limitations began to prevent me from doing things I should be doing, like meeting friends for breakfast, did I consider the possibility that things could be better. Making sure that I realized this was my wife Lynda who had been on me to try physical therapy, since my primary physician wrote a prescription for it a year and a half ago. I resisted because, though I am positive about almost everything else, I was pessimistic about what modern medicine could do for me. I had done physical therapy as a child, and have undergone several medical procedures that did little to improve my condition and seemed to provide only frustration. How was this going to be different? But it was. After only two sessions and a daily regimen of stretching and purposeful movement over the past four weeks, plus the strength training, I have already improved my mobility. Stairs are easier and walking, less painful and troublesome. That has greatly helped my energy level, focus and confidence. Even when I fell and sprained my ankle a couple of days ago, the recovery was easier. While things could definitely be better, they could also be much worse, as they were for me a month or so ago. Had I not relented and at least considered the possibility that things could be better, I would have continued being unnecessarily limited. Are you unnecessarily limited? If you are going through a difficult period in your life – maybe your job or a relationship isn’t as fulfilling as it once was – consider the possibility that things could be better. Always lean into gratitude for what you have, but don’t let resignation obscure options for improvement.