The Perils of Memory

I was recently on a trip with a friend who wanted to show me his favorite places in his home state, some of which he hadn’t visited for 20-30 years. But when we arrived at these treasured places, they didn’t quite match his memory. One place that he remembered as having several trails had none. A car route he remembered as particularly picturesque proved to be nothing special. A river he remembered crossing easily was now impassable.

I’ve had these experiences myself, especially as I get older, and it makes me not trust my memory. I have to wonder if we selectively remember certain things about a place we visit and forget other attributes, so when we revisit it years later we have to combine our faulty memories with the reality in front of us. Putting together these disparate views can be disorienting.

Or maybe our brain combines different places into one, taking the best of each place and creating someplace that, over time, becomes burnished in our memory as the perfect place. It’s that place we want to return to over and over again, the one we mentally escape to when life gets tough and we’re looking for a refuge.

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Be Nice

Lately, I’ve noticed that when I call customer service—whether about insurance claims, to straighten out a bill, or ask for assistance with my new cell phone—the representative often sounds harried when they pick up the phone. I’ve no doubt that, in this culture of impatience and nastiness, they get a lot of people who are angry or who don’t know how to communicate, so resort to anger. By the time I reach this human being, after going through the company’s phone tree and finding numerous dead-ends, I’m often angry too.

I have to remind myself that it’s not the fault of the service person and that they are probably just as stressed as I am by being the last resort for customers frustrated at having a hard time finding someone to help them. So I try my best to be civil, even nice, thanking them for helping me and exchanging pleasantries (how’s the weather there?). Gradually I can hear the rep’s voice change, become softer and more relaxed. By the time we conclude our transaction, we’re both wishing each other a nice day.

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Fear of Falling

I recently did a steep hike in snow that was deeper than I expected. I should have worn snowshoes instead of the snow cleats that weren’t quite enough to keep me from slipping where the incline was too sharp. I had hiked this trail—in all seasons—dozens of times before, yet I suddenly felt anxious, as if one wrong step and I would fall, possibly hurt myself or tumble down the slope.

I wasn’t in grave danger—the trees below would have stopped me from going too far. My fear, I think, came more from feeling that I could easily lose control. Last summer I took a rough tumble from an e-bike—my first attempt at riding an electric bike. I had some nasty bruising but nothing serious. What was scarier was that I couldn’t control the bike or my fall into a ditch.

Maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am or want to believe I am. It’s difficult to accept, because I’ve spent my whole life being physically active—bicycling, swimming, walking, snowshoeing and both downhill and cross-country skiing. For the most part I was confident in my body, except for those times when I accidentally landed on a black- diamond ski run and had to gingerly make my way down the steep slope.

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