Let's say you go to a friend's wedding, or Thanksgiving, or

Mike McCue, in his reflection, declares: “Let's say you go to a friend's wedding, or Thanksgiving, or Halloween. It'd be great the next day to see what went on with your friends' Thanksgiving weekend, or all the costumes they wore on Halloween, and be able to look back and see what they wore the year before, and the year before that.” At first, it seems a simple comment about technology and the sharing of memories, yet beneath it lies a profound yearning of the human spirit: the desire to remember, to connect, and to preserve the moments that weave the fabric of friendship and community.

The origin of this statement is found in McCue’s role as a pioneer of digital platforms, envisioning ways to capture and share stories in the modern world. But beyond the context of innovation, his words echo an ancient impulse. Since the beginning, people have sought to record the passage of time—cave paintings of hunts, clay tablets of feasts, scrolls of weddings, portraits of festivals. Just as our ancestors etched their lives into stone and parchment, so too do we now record with photos, videos, and posts. His insight is not about novelty—it is about continuity.

Consider the way families once kept photo albums. Each page was a portal, showing Thanksgivings of years past, birthdays, and weddings, offering the living a way to commune with their own story. A grandparent, flipping through an album, could trace the growth of a child or the change of fashion, and in doing so, relive the shared joy of the family’s journey. What McCue envisioned is but the digital extension of this timeless practice: a communal archive where memory becomes collective rather than individual.

History gives us another mirror in the Roman tradition of imagines maiorum—the wax masks of ancestors kept in family homes. These were not mere relics but living reminders, brought out during ceremonies to show the lineage of the living. They allowed each generation to see not only who came before but how traditions and roles were handed down. In the same way, McCue’s words about seeing costumes or gatherings year after year point to the sacred rhythm of continuity: what was worn last year, and the year before, and how traditions evolve while still holding memory.

The deeper meaning is this: memory is identity. To see not only what we do today but to look back on what was done before is to understand ourselves in the stream of time. Without remembrance, each day becomes fleeting and disposable. But with remembrance, the trivial becomes sacred, for even a Halloween costume or a Thanksgiving dinner becomes part of the larger story of our lives and our relationships. Through this lens, the everyday is no longer mundane, but eternal.

The lesson for future generations is clear: do not neglect the preservation of your shared life. Take time to record, to write, to photograph, to reflect. Whether by ancient tablet, leather-bound journal, or digital archive, hold fast to the power of memory. For these small details—who sat at the table, who wore what costume, who laughed on that day—become treasures when time has passed. One day, you or your children will look back, and in those memories, you will rediscover joy, belonging, and continuity.

Practical wisdom flows from this truth: create traditions of memory. Keep an album, whether physical or digital. At each holiday, take not only photos but also moments to reflect together on years past. Tell stories that connect the present feast to those that came before. In this way, you will not merely celebrate holidays in isolation, but weave them into the living tapestry of your family and friendships.

Thus, Mike McCue’s simple vision reveals an ancient truth: that life, unrecorded, slips too quickly into silence, but life remembered becomes a song carried across generations. Embrace this truth, and let every wedding, every Thanksgiving, every festival of costumes be not just an event, but a link in the chain of eternity, connecting you to those who came before and those who will come after.