The Forgotten Life
There is a six-word line on page 281 in Ian McEwan’s book, What We Can Know, that I can’t stop thinking about:
“Nearly all of life is forgotten.”
You lived yesterday, and you can probably reconstruct a handful of moments here and there from memory. You know you were at work (maybe), and you know what sorts of things happen at work, but really remembering what you were doing minute to minute in your day is impossible. You’ve forgotten nearly all of your day.
If you jump back a few days, a few weeks, a few months, you’ve forgotten more and more and more. You take a trip, and you remember the highlights of the trip. You may even be able to answer specific questions about your time at a site if someone prompts you with questions, but overall, you’ve lived it and you’ve forgotten it.
I spend so much time worrying that I’m forgetting things, writing down lists so nothing falls through the cracks, bullet-journalling my existence. And along the way, I didn’t notice that I was forgetting anyway.
1 comment
Never thought of it that way, but it is so true. My memory used to be so great, but sometime in my 30s, I stopped remembering every little thing. I retained enough to be on Jeopardy! in my 40s, but I no longer remember every person I ever met or what the hell I was supposed to be doing in this room.
I do enjoy the moments when I remember events or just regular days more now though. That’s probably just a factor of age.