Memory

As we get older, it seems memory becomes more and more important to us. Memory becomes part of who we are, part of our identity, so that when we think of ourselves, our memories are what we think of. Time, somehow along the way, comes to define and measure us, good and bad.

I often think about memory. It is a tricky thing. Some times your memory is accurate, others it is not. I like to think mine is a pretty accurate indicator of my life so far, but without video footage, pictures, written documents, and eye witness interviews and accounts, how can I be sure? The thing is, we remember some things and forget others, and the things we remember we may not remember as they actually happened. A person who was at your birthday party may not be there in your memory, or a blue jacket may become red, or you may have not said that joke to that someone that you thought you said that time.

I was thinking about memory yesterday when I was in Auburn for the football game. I have a lot of good memories of being a student at Auburn. I met many great people and had many great experiences there, and I think about my memories more and more. But there are reasons why memory can be wrong, and several things go into why you remember things how you do. It makes me think of Memento, a movie that shows you can consciously choose how you remember your past, in other words what your memories are, and even pictures and other records of the past can be misleading. So, if this is true, you can in this sense define yourself by simply choosing to remember your past differently than it occurred. I guess, ergo, I didn't actually get a "B" in Dr. Ryan's class, I got an "A," and I bowled that 300 when I was 14, not a 269 - that is, if I so chose to make that my memory (maybe it was a 267?).

To continue this rambling, I wonder if this is something that we should do? In what circumstances would it be better to alter our memory than not? By extension, if memory is one of the things that forms our sense of selves, and it is inaccurate, whether by choice or not, then how can we ever know ourselves? It is hard enough to get to know another person; there are always things about the people in our lives, no matter how long we've known them or how close to them we are, that we do not know. Maybe that's what life is: people living with each other who can never fully understand the false identities they and others live with and believe about their selves and others' selves, whoever those selves truly are.