Almost everyone I've ever met believes they have a bad memory.
Which is funny because if there's literally anything our memories aren't, it's "bad." Our brains can store up to 2.5 million gigabytes of data. They're huge. They're really good.
And they remember way more than we ever give them credit for. Most of our memories are like 10-year-old Harry Potter; they're just sort of buried in the cupboard under the stairs until someone calls for them. That's why things come flooding back when you're with your high school friend group again: we get triggered by unusual stimuli and certain dusty cupboard doors start magically swinging open again.
We remember more than we'll ever be able to access. And a lot of what we come across is forgotten within the first 24 hours. But a lot is retained too, and we don't even realize it, and we might never realize it or ever access it. But it's there.
I'm over the idea of my memory being "bad." It feels lazy and untrue to judge the quality of my brain by whether or not I can recall who the opposing team was at my first Cubs game. I'm much more interested in the idea that every experience I have and everything I ever learn chips away at my brain a certain way, forever shaping the way it thinks even if I can't recall that moment later. A chiseled brain, if you will. A brain that's less defined by the books in the library but the architecture of the library itself. Maybe this is just my lame excuse for not studying the things I want to remember, but maybe it's also reassurance that I don't have to remember everything as long as I'm chiseling my brain with the right tools.
I can't remember how I wanted to end this.
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