Monday, November 9, 2026

Finding My Marbles Again

Memory is a complicated gift. The same experiences that bring sadness can also bring gratitude. Even the moments that hurt can help shape us.

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By Quentin Steen, Representative

In Hook, the film starring Robin Williams, one of the Lost Boys searches for something he believes he has lost: his marbles. When they are finally found, they become more than small glass toys. They represent memories, identity, wonder, and the pieces of ourselves we sometimes misplace along the way.

I have my own collection of lost marbles: an old Cheer laundry-detergent box I have kept for years. Inside are notes, letters, photographs, and little images—small reminders of people, places, and moments that mattered to me.

That box has become more than a container. It is a personal archive of my life. Every so often, I open it and discover something I had forgotten—a memory I did not realize I was missing. Each item brings back a moment, a feeling, or a person who helped shape me.

Over the years, I have modernized that practice through social media, photographs, videos, and the faithful companionship of my iPhone. These tools have helped me preserve memories that might otherwise fade.

This reflection began in a hotel room. I was thinking about an article I had been asked to write when the idea suddenly came to me. I started looking through old photographs and videos on my phone and something unexpected happened: it was healing.

It also carried a twinge of pain.

Sometimes that pain was connected to loss. Other times, it came from remembering how important a person, place, or season of life had been. The ache was a reminder that those moments mattered—that they had become part of me.

That is the complicated gift of memory. The same experiences that bring sadness can also bring gratitude. Even the moments that hurt can help shape us. With time, perspective, and the right support, even painful memories can become healing memories. They do not stop being difficult, but they can become part of a larger story—one that includes growth, courage, and hope.

My memories are like the Lost Boys’ marbles. For a while, some of them may have seemed lost. But somehow, in some way, I have been able to find them again and appreciate what they mean.

Each one reminds me of how beautiful life can be—and how fortunate I am to have lived those moments.

Looking back can be healthy. It reminds us not only where we are, but where we came from. It helps us recognize the people, experiences, and lessons that contributed to who we are today.

There is a caution, though. Memories can be triggers. Some bring comfort; others bring pain. That is part of being human. We often have to take the good with the bad.

If a memory brings uncomfortable or frightening feelings, remember this: it happened then. You are here now.

You are no longer in that moment. You have made it through everything that brought you to today. That means you are stronger and more courageous than you may realize—even if you do not always feel that way.

And if the feelings become too difficult to manage alone, reach out for help. Talk with someone you trust—someone who makes you feel safe, heard, and respected. Professional support can also be valuable. Difficult memories do not have to be carried alone.

As for me, I am grateful for my Cheer box, my photographs, my videos, my iPhone, and every other way I have found to preserve the past. They help me remember the moments that made me.

I am not trying to live in the past. I am trying to remember enough of it to understand the present—and to appreciate how far I have come.

So, if you do not have a memory box, maybe it is time to get one. It does not have to be a Cheer box, and it does not have to be elaborate. Any box will do. Fill it with photographs, letters, notes, ticket stubs, drawings, or anything that carries meaning for you.

You will fill it sooner than you think.

Then, one day, you will open it and discover that the memories you thought were lost were never truly gone. They were waiting for you to find them again—to remind you where you came from, who you are, and how much life you have already lived.

Sometimes healing is not about forgetting the past. Sometimes it is about finding your marbles again—and realizing they helped make you who you are.

Disclaimer: This reflection is based on personal perspective and is intended for general informational purposes only. It does not reflect every worker’s or family’s experience and is not a substitute for professional mental health advice, diagnosis, or treatment.

Quentin Steen is a certified mental health first aid instructor for the Mental Health Commission of Canada.

Finding My Marbles Again

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