This morning, while I was driving to GenreCon, I had an idea for a blog topic. It was a good, profound one, too. I even had it half written in my mind. By the time I arrived, I had no clue what the idea was about.
Memories are fascinating and frustrating things. You can’t remember what you want to (at least, not when you want to) and you can’t forget what you don’t want to remember. Memory varies from person to person, both in content and in style.
Personally, I know my memory is in third person. I don’t remember events as if they happened to me; I remember them as if I observed them happening to myself. I also have an excellent memory, at least for most things (blogs apparently not being most things). I tend to be able to replay events for analysis with a high accuracy to how things actually occurred.
On the other hand, there’s my brother. He has a pretty good memory most of the time, but every now and then he tells a story from our childhood that is slightly confused – specifically in that he remembers things that happened to him as happening to me. They mostly seem to be his unpleasant memories, so I suppose it was a coping mechanism to superimpose them onto me. I find it amazing, though, that a brain can do that.
One of the best stories I have about different types of memories, though, comes from my mom. She has a good childhood friend who she visits with every now and then. When they are remembering past times, my mom’s friend can remember all the details of an event – even recalling conversations word for word. My mom, on the other hand, remembers all of the emotions connected to the event, what it felt like to be there. Together they’re able to paint a very accurate picture of their shared memories.