The appeal of digging up the past is the facade of better understanding the present. The reality of such an action just leads to more digging. We can understand the major events and how those might shape who we are or who they are, but what about everything else that has slipped through the cracks? What about that one time that you felt afraid to go down a water slide alone? Or that time that you kissed a stranger at a Chicago rave? Do the smaller pieces of the past get dissolved and washed away or are they part of soil beneath our feet that help us stand? Do each of those tiny grains of dirt keep piling and piling to outweigh the major events?