I was walking up Forbes Avenue, somewhere between Morewood and Beeler, when a memory implanted itself in my mind. I was with my friend Sam, so I was either a freshman or early sophomore (our friendship faded out winter break of sophomore year), and it was cold. I imagine we were going to a party, though I can’t understand why we were walking on that side of the street–the side near the parking garage–if that was the case. Maybe we were headed somewhere to pregame first?
We were walking up Forbes and suddenly I remembered a thing so vividly and intensely. I remember being amused. I remember being really confused. Why had I not remembered this thing for so long, and then suddenly it was vividly there?
I told Sam about the memory that had come up. I imagine it was inspired by something she must have been telling me. I remember telling her the memory and her saying “why hadn’t you ever told me that before?” And I remember saying “Because I didn’t remember it before.”
I’m not avoiding telling you this sudden magical memory, by the way. I honestly can’t remember it. It was something that came back to me briefly. And though I have this strange memory of remembering this thing, I can’t remember what that thing actually is. Or was?
Having now studied psychology I have a slightly better (but by no means comprehensive) understanding of memory. I understand highly emotional memories are burned most strongly in our brain. I understand that with each retelling, each accessing of a memory if you will, it is slightly altered. Remembered a little bit differently. I understand that the easiest memories to access are the ones that have many connections to them. That’s why a lot of times when I can’t remember a word or answer, I’ll try accessing it in a different route. I’ll remember that it once reminded me of something else and go that direction. I understand that memories that are not accessed often are harder to recall, if only because those pathways are pretty wonky. They’re the dirt roads to the freshly repaved highways of the recently remembered.
I think back to this story about once a year because it is such a mystery. I remember so strongly the feeling of awe when I remembered whatever memory popped into my brain during that walk. I remember thinking that things suddenly made sense. Not big things. Not my whole life. But some things. I remember that flash of memory, for a second, made the roadmap of my life a little clearer.
Memory is elusive and confusing and not at all precise or scientific. And yet it is fascinating. In the process of writing about myself, of starting, and stopping, and wishing, and hoping and blushing about my desire to eventually one day write a memoir and/or a family history, a lot of things come up. It’s random, and if I don’t write them down quickly–a note on my phone, a phrase in my journal–there’s a good chance I won’t remember.
A few weeks ago at work during a therapy group, the therapist asked our clients to write a story about their past. It didn’t have to relate to why they were in treatment, just a story. A lot of the clients balked. They didn’t want to go there. They didn’t want to think about their families or their friends or any step in what led them to be where they were. I wanted to tell them how therapeutic writing had become for me. How the first pieces of memoir I wrote that I was truly proud of suddenly made sense of a life that had seemed so painfully meaningless before, so chaotic.
But I also recognized that that only happened well into my adulthood. When I was ready for it to happen. Seemingly out of nowhere. This story spilled out of me that fit so perfectly together, that had motifs and themes without my trying, that I was left wondering how I had never noticed those patterns before.
The thing with memory is you get to go into your past, with the knowledge and wisdom of time and age. And without those things, memories are often just painful retellings. With those things, memories, to me, become genius.
tmd 