The idea that what we recall is “reality” is itself a myth. Every reflection of an experience you do is just that: a reflection. It’s real in the same sense as a reflection on a mirror is real. Memory isn’t a static recording, it’s a reconstruction, shaped by every retelling, every emotional state, every new experience layered on top.

For me, this isn’t cynical at all, it’s liberating. Realizing that my past doesn’t have to define me, that it’s just an ever-degenerating narrative, was a relief. How I am in my body (even if it’s deterministic) has nothing to do with what I think or recall my past to be. People only call this cynical because we’re conditioned to believe we’re supposed to be some character with a fixed life story. Which is ironic, given how we’re also pressured to believe we’re never quite “good enough” as we are.

Think of it like a memory card game: even when you’re actively trying to remember where the matching pairs are, it’s difficult. Now, try memorizing every detail of how you experience your current surroundings, then leave the room and try to recall it. Unless your surroundings were exceptionally minimalistic, you’ll forget a crazy amount of it almost instantly (and hard sciences generally agree that the forgetting happens, they just disagree about the rate and amount of degeneration). So how sure can you be that memories from years ago are accurate? That doesn’t mean that you can’t cherish something from the past. Just be aware that at every recall, you probably remember a bit more of the memory of the memory, than the actual event. But you can cherish the thing that was worthy of cherishing during that time, as presumably you still cherish that thing.

And before some people get their knickers in a bunch, I have a diagnosis for C-PTSD. Meaning generally speaking, my nervous system functions in a way nervous systems subjected to extended adversity during childhood functions. There was a period where working through my narratives about the past was highly useful, and going to talk therapy about it was highly useful. I would never claim otherwise. But once I had dealt with that, I could start putting the narratives aside entirely. Because I happened to be called to get beyond just replacing the story about me as a victim of my past with another story about a survivor who overcame adversity. I’m not saying people “SHOULD” do that, but the option is there for those who WANT to do that. And the thing is, “the victim” often justifiably doesn’t want to do that. I wanted justice, revenge, validation, acknowledgement and all that. I held on to my stories about my past for dear life. I would’ve told the me writing this to go fuck right off. But once I had worked through the stories as much as I needed to, I wanted to let them go (because I happened to also be someone with a lot of curiosity about the nature of reality and holding on to believing what I wanted to believe was counterproductive to that). I could not have let go of the stories, if I hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time believing them.

And yes, I just spun a story about me for you. Or did that all really happen? Does it matter if it conveys something useful? Or does it just make you want to dismiss me as some tiresome armchair shrink who clearly needs better creative outlets than Lemmy.