Our personal beginnings are shrouded in mystery; our lives drift along almost without our notice; and our end generally comes with surprises of one kind or another. It may be a surprise car accident early on. It may be a surprise heart attack when you least expected it, which is probably true for all of them. It may even surprise the doctors! “The occurrence of this type of cancer in a man your age is most unusual.” On the battlefield, or in the hospital, the moment of death is usually greeted with a look of surprise on the face of the deceased.
If we are being honest, we all know that it is coming. That final moment may be exciting for us, as individuals, but it will be quite mundane for everyone else, outside of a precious few. The most interesting thing is our lives as they drift along. It is a mistake to overdo it on the self-examination, but to hold the human experience up to the light, in the manner of an amateur philosopher, can be fascinating.
Our perception of the passage of time changes continuously over the course of our lives. The passage of the time between two Christmases seems like an eternity to a preschooler. Toddlers see Christmas as a delightful, one-time experience. They do not expect it to ever happen again. Babies, of course, don't notice Christmas at all.
Life seems to take longer before the age of forty or so. Perhaps because we still see a long future before us; perhaps because we are still experiencing things as somewhat unfamiliar and still very exciting. The passage of a year still seems like a considerable chunk of time. We are still growing before the age of fortyish. We see ourselves growing in power and experience every year. Our bodies are still flooded with the appropriate hormones. Sex is always an option, on demand, and then again in twenty minutes. We are still at the height of our powers, and we are as yet untroubled by worries regarding health and mortality. This is the flood tide.
The process of creating memories changes as well. What is your earliest memory? Chances are that it was something shocking, or exciting, or surprising, and the chances are that you were at least three or four years old. There are people who claim to remember things that happened to them very early in life; some even claim to remember being born. I am very skeptical of these claims.
There is nothing wrong with babies' brains. I'm sure that they could start remembering things if they thought that it was important. They are very busy with other things, however, so I believe that their minds are otherwise occupied. They are observing, watching, listening, judging, they are busy ingratiating themselves to any bigger person who shows the signs of willingness to be helpful. That is something that all babies share: the fear that no one will care for them. Because they know one thing for sure, and that is that they are hopelessly incapable of caring for themselves. I am sure that babies remember clearly the faces of those who have helped them in the past, or bothered them, or helped someone else, or hurt anyone. Somehow, though, none of that process is committed to long-term memory. It is all jettisoned when the information is no longer required.
The psychologists have done fascinating experiments with babies regarding their process of judging adults. I say adults, but the babies are not thinking in those terms. Anyone larger then them that seems capable of providing assistance with food and locomotion is judged. The psychs do it with puppets. One puppet is eating something that looks good, and the puppet then shares that treat with a smaller puppet. The baby's face registers delight. Another puppet steals something that looks enjoyable from a smaller puppet. The baby's face clearly displays anger. As the experiment goes on, puppets from earlier on may reappear. The baby remembers them all. Just the sight of that mean puppet brings the angry face to the baby. They judge you by your facial expressions, your voice, and your deeds. They see and hear a lot of things that do not make any sense to them, but for now they are concentrated on the important things. Nourishment; comfort; play-time; hygiene; sleep.
People in their teens, twenties, and thirties form memories in a very systematic way. Memories are sorted and collated in our sleep, and long-term memories are solidified in our sleep. Friendships are stronger and more easily formed at this stage. Our attachment to certain music, cinema, etc., is almost ecstatic. Our earlier sexual encounters take on a magical significance. We must be careful to remember all of it, because, “we have our entire lives in front of us.” And then, suddenly, it all moves to the rear-view-mirror.
I am sorry to report that I believe that the process of memory formation changes a bit as we hit the ebb tide. At some point, around our early forties for most people, we achieve the certain knowledge of death. We lose our immortality. Physically, we lose everything over the next thirty years or so. Things that seemed important to our younger selves lose their sheen. We apply a different set of criteria to judge the importance of things, which includes the process of deciding what things are important enough to remember. There have been many things that happened to me during this period which I have actively tried to forget before I had a chance to be tortured by the memory.
By now, waiting only for the other shoe to drop, my memories mostly torment me. Memories that were once either great, good, bad, or indifferent, now vary only from bittersweet, to horrifying, to merely embarrassing.
Calling it “life” in the first place is cruel. Everything after birth is death. The process, “nature,” is not focused on the individual. We are born to procreate. After that has been accomplished, even our usefulness as caretakers is debatable.
All roads lead to, well, you know. But cheer up! There's always jazz, and Netflix.
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