Open up any politically motivated opinion section in this country right now and you’ll find lots of discussions of age and it’s effects on memory and decision making. I am just wise enough to know that I don’t have much of value to add to these particular discussions, but I have been thinking quite a bit about time’s effects on me as I approach the ripe old age of 27. The most recent evidence of my disorientation with time comes thanks to my younger brother. He recently finished a very difficult semester at Indiana University. Difficult because as a business student, he took I-core. I-core is a ‘weed out’ master course students must complete in their first semester junior year if they’d like to move on to more specialized courses at the Kelley School of Business. I know all of this because I did it myself in 2017, and thus we have an unfortunate comparison. It’s been 6 years since I completed that semester, and I simply don’t feel that different. I’ve changed since college, I hope a lot, but it isn’t the fundamental change of my earlier life. The real kicker here is once again the comparison to my brother. When I was taking those classes in 2017, he was a freshman in high school. I can’t help but think about how much time it felt like passed in those years and how dramatically I changed. Compared to that, 2017 to now feels so brief. I feel the same.
Colin authors another banger blog post
Thankfully, I’m not the only one. This is well studied: professor Adrian Bejan’s hypothesizes it’s because of neural pathway expansions, some others suggests it’s perception of memory – to a child a year is a huge fraction of their life, whereas this isn’t true of adults. For me, it’s really that feeling of change, or the lack thereof. Should I want to change as much as an adult as I did in high school? Probably not. Still, it feels like the grand arc of my life is steadying, and I don’t love that feeling. I almost feel a need to inject more risk. Like I need to mix things up in some big way to try to force my own change and really challenge myself the way I used to. Maybe I will. This is the stuff midlife crises are made of. Maybe I’ll realize I don’t need to change to find satisfaction in myself.
The other noticeable effect of getting older was reminded to me via a dream I had. I know, I know, no one cares to hear about dreams. They’re a boring subject but don’t worry I’m going to tie this one into the main point you’re gonna love it. The dream exposed another aspect of aging that’s seldom discussed – the effect on the memory of memories. I think just about everyone is aware of the idea that memory degrades over time, and not just general memory but specific ones, too. A famous study asked people to recall where they were on 9/11 day of, day after, and then periodically over the next year and following years. The study actively tracked the tectonic shifting of the information within memories. The conclusion: forgetting is most frequent in the first year, but continues after as well. Details evaporate. Such is life. And then of course there’s Brian Williams, famous for misrepresenting a “war experience” he had, but, as Malcolm Gladwell points out, his shifting recollection is more resembling of false memory than fraud. Memory sucks, and time exposes that more and more – not to mention the degradation as we reach out later years (if you want a horrifying representation of that, I recommend “Everywhere at the End of Time” at your own risk.) The good news on that front is that with a combination of recent developments like early blood test and treatments, this will soon be more preventable than it can be now.
Holly (cat)
However, the lesson of my dream was not about forgetting memories, it was about misplacing them. The dream wasn’t particularly substantive, a foggy vision of me caring for a cat. But this wasn’t any of my parents 3 cats, nor my sisters feisty cat Otis, rather, it was about one of my childhood cats Holly. Holly was a great cat who somehow managed to remain sweet despite being surrounded by the 4 careless kids that made her older sister understandably defensive. She died in 2014, and I miss her dearly. Here’s the thing, despite being a huge part of my childhood and personally beloved, this is the first time I’ve thought about Holly in years. Am I am meandering careless fool who let’s my passions and loves in one ear and out the other? Yes, but that has little to do with this. I’m just older. Obviously I can remember holly well, but now there’s just so much to remember. Practical information, plans, appointments, stories, the happenings of loved ones, relationships, life events, and so on. It’s mostly there, somewhere. It’s just unbelievably easy to let an old memory gather dust somewhere you weren’t looking, and when that’s something you love it can rock you to your core when you rediscover it. The necrotic part of me wants to respond by making some giant excel sheet of memories, but ironically that wouldn’t really help because these kinds of things are not at-hand to remember. It’s paradoxical. Least I can do is appreciate them when I can remember where I put them. Holly was indeed a great cat and I do miss her – even when my memory is preoccupied.
Colin