I still have all

I still have all the emails I've ever sent since December 1996—or, at least, I have just about all of them.

I didn't realize this until the other night, when I was looking through some backup disks, trying to find a story I once wrote. Instead, I found a stash of old email messages on a CD-ROM.

There are nearly 15,000 of them. And that's not counting the ones I wrote while using Hotmail or Yahoo or a friend's account.

If you're wondering, that's an average of seven messages a day for over six years. Of course, I probably sent more like 20 or 30 on some days, which was balanced out by weekends and holidays and camping trips spent with the people who were on the receiving end of some of those messages.

So like I said, I found these messages and I started skimming through them, reading what I had written back then. And I must say: What a terrible idea.

You see, scanning through all your outgoing messages since 1996 is like reliving six years of your life in the space of a few hours. Even if it's a good life, it's too much—too many emotions to unleash at once. It's much more intense than looking at a photo album or flipping through your diary, both of which are the sort of items that one creates with the future in mind. Instead, with the email messages, you're going over your actual interactions—the exact things you said to your friends, your coworkers, your girlfriends, your enemies, the people you wished were not your enemies, the people you cared about, the people you could not have cared less about, and everyone else in between who, for one reason or another, received at least a few seconds of your time at one point in your life.

Seven snapshots a day for six years. I don't know if there's anything that'll get you closer to being there, except for your dreams.

I haven't slept well since.