Memory, the mysterious elusive mistriss in the mind
I am fascinated by memory. Why do I remember what I remember, and why do I forget what I forget?
What triggers memory? What blocks it? Can a lost memory be recovered?
I used to do memory exercises obsessively. In junior high and high school I received a new schedule every nine weeks. I committed the schedule to memory, then recited every former nine weeks schedule - class, room, teacher, for all 8 periods, all four nine weeks, all years. By 11th grade the litany was long. I finally said to myself one day, "You do not need to remember every nine weeks schedule. You do not have to hold onto all that information, it serves no purpose." And I stopped reciting them. I did not as easily let go of the compulsion to remember.
The ability to recall information is a gift I once had. I always considered myself to have a somewhat photographic memory, and even better recall of things heard. If I heard something once I recalled it with clarity and detail. Because of these abilities, I was a very quick learner and excellent test taker. School subjects were a breeze, and I had plenty of time to play.
The ability served me well in work settings too - I adapted to situations quickly, learned systems efficiently, and could capably accomplish tasks. I held abundant information in my head, and accessed it easily.
Then, a few years ago I suffered from a serious and prolonged infection of Lyme disease, and as a result my memory deteriorated. I no longer have excellent recall, and I lost access to many of my long term memories. I also lost access to much of my vocabulary - my ability to call words to mind is greatly diminished. The change forces me to re-evaluate my identity. Who am I without my memory? Who am I with the shift in short-term memory excellence and loss of long-term memory access?
Yet my intrigue with the memory mistress continues. She is elusive, especially if chased. She is mysterious, I never know what she will find important or what by which she will be utterly disinterested.
Years ago, before I wrote Wren & Ignacio, I began a memory book - intent on writing out descriptive entries for my memories, hoping that the writing of the memory would trigger details or lead to other related memories. I filled a composition book in such a fashion.
I find the meanderings of the mind marvelous. I fascinate at the relationship between who we are, who we were, what we remember and what we forget.
What triggers memory? What blocks it? Can a lost memory be recovered?
I used to do memory exercises obsessively. In junior high and high school I received a new schedule every nine weeks. I committed the schedule to memory, then recited every former nine weeks schedule - class, room, teacher, for all 8 periods, all four nine weeks, all years. By 11th grade the litany was long. I finally said to myself one day, "You do not need to remember every nine weeks schedule. You do not have to hold onto all that information, it serves no purpose." And I stopped reciting them. I did not as easily let go of the compulsion to remember.
The ability to recall information is a gift I once had. I always considered myself to have a somewhat photographic memory, and even better recall of things heard. If I heard something once I recalled it with clarity and detail. Because of these abilities, I was a very quick learner and excellent test taker. School subjects were a breeze, and I had plenty of time to play.
The ability served me well in work settings too - I adapted to situations quickly, learned systems efficiently, and could capably accomplish tasks. I held abundant information in my head, and accessed it easily.
Then, a few years ago I suffered from a serious and prolonged infection of Lyme disease, and as a result my memory deteriorated. I no longer have excellent recall, and I lost access to many of my long term memories. I also lost access to much of my vocabulary - my ability to call words to mind is greatly diminished. The change forces me to re-evaluate my identity. Who am I without my memory? Who am I with the shift in short-term memory excellence and loss of long-term memory access?
Yet my intrigue with the memory mistress continues. She is elusive, especially if chased. She is mysterious, I never know what she will find important or what by which she will be utterly disinterested.
Years ago, before I wrote Wren & Ignacio, I began a memory book - intent on writing out descriptive entries for my memories, hoping that the writing of the memory would trigger details or lead to other related memories. I filled a composition book in such a fashion.
I find the meanderings of the mind marvelous. I fascinate at the relationship between who we are, who we were, what we remember and what we forget.
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