Forgive Forgetting
I completely forgot that I had seen the elusive American $2 bill when I wrote about money this week. Afterwards, a reader reminded me that we had seen one together “but clearly it wasn’t very impressive”. I was mortified. I am known for remembering intricate details that come up in arguments much later, much to the chagrin of said reader. Meanwhile, he is adorably forgetful, constantly losing his keys and his phone. It is surprising that he remembers, while I forgot. My first reaction was to hope that it did not hurt his feelings.
I forget things all the time. I would love to remember the names and dates from every history book I’ve read, or every detail of my friend’s lives so that I can deepen my connection with them every time we speak. Meanwhile, I can recall useless numbers or song lyrics. Why do I need to know the phone number of where I lived when I was 15, or the lyrics to the 10th track on Avril Lavigne and Dido’s albums? Not everything sticks, and we can’t always control what does.
Our brains, in general, are designed this way. We take in so much stimulus and much of it is unnecessary to our survival, falling out of our brain as soon as it goes in. Even when something is important to us to remember, like a speech or someone’s name, it can vanish. Some people even have conditions where certain types of memories, for example faces, are impossible to recall.
Our brains are also better at remembering things we learned when we were younger. I remember the lyrics of a French song I composed when I was 10, about how “I liked to hit my little brother, but did not like to plant flowers. It is boring!” – it sort of rhymes in the original French[i]. Meanwhile, my current French teacher had to tell me the word for crutches (“bequilles”) at least five times.
Our minds also help us deal with trauma by forgetting, or at least softening the memories. Sometimes when my friends recall memories that I cannot, it is because I was going through a dark period at that time, but it is difficult to tell them so.
This forgetting also serves an evolutionary function. Parents forget how difficult their newborns were and resolve to have another once their child behaves sufficiently sweetly. My mother to this day believes that I was a horror baby, while my brother was a sweet angel, conveniently forgetting that by the time my brother was born, she had hired a nanny.
Forgetting pain also allows us to push ourselves. I only remember how good a long run made me feel and not how hard it was on my body, allowing me to get after it the next time.
If forgetting is normal, why do we find it so offensive? I am devastated when people I care about forget my birthday, their silence drowning out the other well-wishers. When friends forget moments that I hold dear, my gut reaction is to assume they don’t care about me, or didn’t find the memory nearly as meaningful, but I know that is almost never the case.
Forgetting is also frowned upon at work. Colleagues never admit they forget something - they merely “mis-remembered”. A former boss once marvelled at my photographic memory (a trait I do not possess) just because I could recall numbers and notes from investor presentations. Yet remembering is not what makes someone good at their job. A brilliant memory with lacklustre attitude is no match for someone who forgets, yet has learned how to be organised and diligent in writing everything down.
Forgetting affronts us, I think, because remembering signifies that something is valued by the other person enough to keep it in their brains. However, there may be any number of reasons why something is forgotten that have nothing to do with its importance. We could afford to be a bit more forgiving of those who forget.
[i] “J’aime frapper mon petit frère, mais je n’aime pas planter les fleurs………c’est ennuyeux!” I also still remember the tune and will send any interested readers a Whatsapp recording if they so desire.