Many people are trying to improve their memory, some even taking pills to enhance their memory. Not me. I’m learning to accept my declining memory, embrace my forgetfulness.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to forget everything. There are some important things I need to remember in order to survive in the world, such as my wife’s birthday. Forgetting it would be worse than forgetting where I live. I’d be out on the street anyway, but at least someone would be looking for me.
The birthdays of my children are also important to remember, but I usually get reminders in the form of a question: “Do you know what I’d like for my birthday?”
Remembering where I put my keys is also vital, but I’ve made it a habit to put my keys on a key holder (when they aren’t in my pocket). I try to put things back where I got them. When I return home from work, I put my keys back on the key holder, I put my wallet back on the side table, and I put my butt back on the couch.
Leaving myself reminders is also a good way to reduce my reliance on memory. If I make an appointment with a dentist, I make sure I write it down somewhere — either on a calendar or a Post-it note. I also set an alarm for 24 hours before the appointment, reminding myself that I have an upcoming dental visit and it’s not too late to cancel it.
Having a poor memory would hurt me considerably if I were still in the exam stage of my life, but the only exam I have these days is an annual physical exam. I can usually answer all the questions by shaking my head.
It’s a rare day that I have to remember more than a few facts. It helps that I can look up almost anything on the internet. If I forget the name of an actress in a movie I’m watching, I can use the internet to refresh my memory, finding out not just her name, but also where she was born, whether she’s married, and what shampoo she uses.
Unfortunately the internet does not help me with ordinary people’s names. Every now and then, I run into someone who says “Hi Melvin!” to me and I just say “Hi” back, wishing more people would wear name tags.
This is the worst part of having poor memory — when you’re put on the spot and have to instantly retrieve a piece of information from your hippocampus. The hippocampus, as you may know, is the region of the brain where memories are stored. The problem for me is that my brain doesn’t have an “auto-save” function and I don’t always remember to hit the “save” button. There’s a lot of information that I do not think is worth saving, until I’m put on the spot. This happens frequently with my wife. She will, for example, suddenly ask me a question about her clothing.
“Which dress do you like better — this one or the one I wore two Sundays ago?”
My memory is poor as it is, but it’s even poorer for clothing. All I can do is act like I’m not totally clueless: “This one is more stylish, I think, but just to be sure, can you wear the other dress again?”
Just as I’m breathing a sigh of relief, she says, “Good idea. Can you go to my wardrobe and get it?”
But having a poor memory does have its advantages. You can re-watch a movie and enjoy it as much as the first time. You can read a murder mystery for the 10th time and still not know who did it. You can get 10,000 steps just walking around your house, trying to remember where you left your bottle of memory pills.
The biggest advantage my poor memory gives me is an inability to hold grudges for more than a day or two.
Some people forgive, but don’t forget.
I forget what I’m supposed to forgive.