Misty Watercolor Memories…

Been thinking a lot lately about memory lately, Peeps.  Memory is a funny thing.

There were two incidents recently in which I realized that I remembered an event differently than the other people involved.

One was involving a time a friend came to visit me in college.  Well, actually she and I have similar memories of this visit, but other people who were there remember something different.  The issue in debate is that a guy that we had later become good friends with was there, but neither of us remember him.  We know there was a guy there we’d never met before, but it baffles both of us that this guy was indeed the same guy we know today.  Follow me? Weird, right?

The second was a conversation with my Mom’s husband about when he met a cousin of mine.  He insists it was at a graduation.  He is adamant that this is true.  Personally, I can’t accurately recall when he met her, but I know that there were no graduation events she would’ve been invited to that he also attended.  I can only surmise he’s remembering my Grandma’s funeral.  I can vaguely recall sharing a ride with him, Mom, Brother, and said cousin.  Neither of us will concede that the other is right.  We both believe that our memories of the event is true.

I saw an episode of Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman.  The title was What Makes Us Who We Are?.    In the show, the idea was discussed about how memories can be changed and influenced by our own internal editor or by outside suggestion.  This really fascinated me and, to be honest, made me quite anxious.  What am I remembering incorrectly?  What am I altogether forgetting?

There are some deep, dark fears that I’m not ready to go into at this point, because I still don’t know if they have any base in reality.  For the past 5 to 10 years, I have recalled memories that are weird, have had reactions that don’t make sense, have become aware that there are events that and people who I can’t remember.  But is that so unusual?  We all have things we’ve forgotten, that doesn’t mean they are repressed traumatic events.  We all have strange fears or paranoia, right?

And anyway, since memory is so fluid, what does it matter?  I don’t know that it makes a difference except that I’m just an infinitely curious and incredibly paranoid person.  Haha.  If there is something I’ve forgotten, but I’m safe and sane (relatively- nyuck, nyuck, nyuck), why worry about it now?

Memory is a funny thing.  And magical.  And really, it’s all the past there is, right?  Just memories?

I’m still pondering this one, Peeps.



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