Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m going to forget my life. I scare myself when I realize how much of a struggle it is for me to remember what I’ve had for the last 5 or 10 meals so I usually don’t try. My memory is nowhere near the steel trap I wish it were, and even though my new schedule of sleeping for a third rather than a sixth of every day has helped, it has also given me more time to reflect on the fact that days and moments are constantly spiraling into the forgotten abyss.
Yesterday I was looking for shorts at Banana Republic and a sales representative came up and asked, “Can I help you find anything?” “Yeah, where’s J. Crew?” I asked. Immediately horrified, I apologized for my snarky response and explained that it had been on my mind two seconds before he asked.
Today I was having lunch outside in Rockefeller Center with M and asked him about the band-aid right above his shirt collar covering his vampire hickey. “Man, it’s too bad it’s so high up on your neck,” I commiserated. “Actually I put the band-aid higher than I needed to so it would show. Gotta milk it.” These are moments I don’t want to forget!
So why is it important to remember your life? I can think of at least three reasons we should care about remembering, which I offer in ascending order of importance.
One is the experience factor – we can learn from the past to replicate things than went well and modify things that didn’t. Another is that remembering represents a chance to relive good moments. In another post, I will delve into my belief that the life we experience is 99% in our own heads, but for now this sentence suffices for you see where I’m going. Of course, this ignites the complementary battle of trying to not relive the bad parts, or at the very least tying it back to the first point to make sure you learn from the burn.
The last answer is the most important and the one for which I suspect the exploration of is the discussion ground of any honest conversation on the matter. My dark fear is that if what we do isn’t remembered, it just doesn’t count.
I hate to be a Mopey Mike (the way M has been writing I’m starting to wonder whether his revenue model is a deal with Eli Lilly he hasn’t told me about where he drums up business for Prozac), and I want to figure out how to answer this without nihilism, so I won’t pontificate. The solution, obviously, is to just blog about everything I do to make sure nothing is forgotten. I’m going to go get some water now, I’ll let you know how it went when I get back.