One of the things I love about social media is the personal record of your life it gathers.

Photographs, milestones, thoughts from the past all pop up on anniversary dates that you had almost completely forgotten.

One of the memories that came up the other day was of my daughter in a sprinkling of snow, absolute joy on her face.

I took the photo nine years ago and I remember the day clearly.

I arrived at work at the Tenterfield Star where I was the editor, to the news that it was snowing on Mt Mackenzie.

People love snow pics so I knew it was time to get in the car and go – after just one important stop.

I was one in a small queue of parents at the primary school to pick up their child and chase the snow. Why not? My daughter had lived the youngest part of her life in Queensland and had never seen snow.

As our car climbed the mountain, we saw the first signs of white and we were both beyond excited.

As we went further, we saw other family groups stopped to gather up sparse bits of snow from the ground.

We went higher. Finally we found somewhere the world became grey and white, and got out.

My girl made a snowball – more of an iceball really – and pelted me with it.

We stood and tasted the snow, felt the snow, marvelled at the ticker tape parade of a world that was suddenly different.

It was a happy day. A truly happy day.

Looking at that memory, I wondered what happens to us and our willingness to feel joy.

That face – so loving life – why don’t we see it more often?

Can you remember the wonder on your baby’s face when they watched patches of sun shifting, birds flying, leaves falling?

Those things are still there and, while we can’t go around gaping at them all the time, isn’t there still a little bit of that joy tucked in us somewhere?

The very best memories are those of joy, where we let ourselves feel something big.

That doesn’t have to be limited to the day our baby is born, or a long-awaited reunion with your mum or dad.

Looking at that little face, I don’t want ever want to lose that moment, or that belief that inside the girl who is now a teenager, there is still the ability to wonder.

It’s so easy to wish we had cherished those times more when we had the chance. The best part is, today is another chance, and there’s another coming up tomorrow.

• Marie Low is a freelance journalist based in Gunnedah, New South Wales.