The smell that impugned upon my lungs was one I knew well, but while placing it took but a moment, I had to look over my shoulder to figure out why. An auto body shop. As a child, my father would often, upon finishing body work on a car, get out the spray gun, attach it to the compressor, and refinish the vehicle in the garage just below my childhood bedroom. The smell of enamel being applied was still one I remembered, even if those occasions were now many years gone.
This was easy, though. An obvious case, easily explained. There were other, innumerable times, where an odor evoked feelings I couldn't so readily pinpoint. Some transported me instantly to a place, while others simply offered déjàvu with no evident memory to correlate.
How much of your life is ingrained, and do you notice it? I've recently redoubled my efforts to practice self-awareness, and occasions like this one certainly provide an opportunity to flesh out the building blocks that made me the woman I am today, big or small.