Leave the past where it belongs.
You’ve lost the key to your hotel room in St. Petersburg and it’s freezing outside. The panic rising, you rifle frantically through your purse, desperate to find it. Your sister Claire’s eyes are now boring into the back of your neck; you wait for the words you’ve been dreading. “You’ve lost the keys to the room, haven’t you?” she says. This is quickly followed by the killer blow: “You always do this. You always lose things. You lost the necklace I got you for your 16th birthday. The dress I lent you 2 years ago for that wedding. My Encarta 1995 CD”.
Your fight ends in hours of passive-aggressive silence as you search the pavements of St. Petersburg for the lost key, while Claire mutters angrily about a hamster that’s been missing since 1992. You know the only way through this is to leave the past where it belongs: unhealthily repressed somewhere in your sub-consciousness.