I recently found out that a friend’s granddaughter has a photographic memory. Never one to miss an opportunity to waste hours ruminating over useless hypothetical questions, the next morning I sat drinking my coffee wondering why I didn’t also have a photographic memory.
“How can you expect me to remember anything when you are always asking me to forget everything?” a pretentious little voice asked.
“What are you talking about?” I questioned.
“You are always telling me, ‘Forget this ever happened, Brain. It’s for our own good’.”
Offended I asked, “Like what?” .
“Well obviously I can’t remember,” my brain yelled back taking offense itself.
Maybe people with photographic memories have a better time accepting reality and don’t continuously write and rewrite their past like I do. (Never forgetting to highlight myself in the very best light.) Or maybe people with photographic memories are more in the moment. That way each task they do, their brain is paying attention to it, rather than, as my brain tends to do, running off barefoot like a feral child through a dense forest.
Incidentally, in no way shape or form have I ever considered that I am simply not as smart as someone with a photographic memory. Never. Not possible. I’m sure if I worked at it I could have my own photographic memory. I choose not to have a photographic memory, that’s all. I don’t feel like doing the hard work.
“Now you’re telling me to forget that we know that we are not smart enough to have a photographic memory.”
“What? I did not. Shhh. Go run in the forest.”