As we get older and more stuff clogs our mind, new information and experiences shove older material into the far reaches of our brain. We forget math equations learned in high school, the authors of once-favorite books, the names of fictional characters and perhaps the storyline. We remember lyrics of a song, but not the name of the song or the performer(s), something about a movie or TV show, an incident in our life, but can’t remember exactly when or where it occurred. The names and faces of schoolmates, teachers, neighbors, recede into the background, and with no reason to revive them, are eventually forgotten.
That is not all bad.
Our sense of worth, of well-being, even our sanity depends upon our remembering. But, alas, our sense of worth, our well-being, our sanity also depend upon our forgetting. – Joyce Appleby
Our brain holds a lot of information, but a great deal is not quickly attainable. The name of an old show, or friend, or place visited, may ultimately surface, or someone will say something that triggers a memory. The resurrected episode may be altered and tempered by time, and the tricks our mind plays protects us from memories that perhaps should remain buried. Selective memory kicks in.
We mellow with age, and memories moderate too.
Do we really want to remember the details of our junior high (now middle school) angst? The embarrassment of being chosen last for a gym sports team…the self-consciousness of being called on in class…not being a member of the ‘in’ crowd.
Memories blurred by time.
I was on a bowling team in elementary school, and enjoyed the game. I don’t remember all my teammates, only the name of one, Ellen.
I remember the guy who sat in front of me in homeroom from seventh grade through high school. No idea who sat behind me.
I went to sleep-away camp and only recall the name of two bunkmates. Did I not like the others? Did they not like me? Did they have long, difficult-to-pronounce names?
I never was good with names. I recognize faces…I know you. From school? The neighborhood? Camp? Were you in my class years ago? Was I in your class? Did we work together?…give me a hint.
I am surprised at times when a friend or relative mentions an event that occurred years, maybe decades ago. With a little prompting – when did it happen? who was involved? special occasion? – my mind often, eventually, resurrects a fragment of the event. Occasionally, however, I never remember.
I have been forgetting things for years…I know this because I wrote something about it…I have proof. Of course, I can’t remember exactly where I wrote about it, or when, but I could probably hunt it up if I had to. – Nora Ephron, excerpt from her book: I Remember Nothing
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