I am fascinated by individual memory, the way we experience the world as it contrasts with the way others view that same world. And it affects everything, from the things we do, to our memories, and beyond. I’m reminded of the years I spent thinking that my mother loved my sister more than she loved me, and all of the “memories” that aided in those thoughts and left me feeling disillusioned. And I thought it was all so clear what had gone on. I had this enormous chip on my shoulder about the whole thing. But then I talked to my sister about 13 years ago and realized that her own ideas differed dynamically from my own. Even though we lived in the exact same house with the same mother we saw things completely different.
That’s when I realized the objective truth was that neither of us was right. Our mother wasn’t so partial to my sister as I had previously thought, but she was firm because she knew I needed it. I think back to my personality back then and I can now see where she was coming from, and why I needed that firm hand. It wasn’t about my sister at all. It had all been about me, and it showed that my mother truly loved and cared for me, that she wanted the best for me. But seen through the eyes of a child who thought the whole world was against him things appeared that way. It was only with the perspective that only distance provides that I was able to see the full picture.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and the statement is often true because words come from individual perspectives, and words can be interpreted differently by different people. A picture shows the world as it actually was; whether or not you concur with what it shows is up to you, but the picture itself doesn’t change no matter how many times you view it. In the photo here I recall quite clearly that my sister and I were just sitting there minding our own business when this creepy guy we had never seen before tried to freak us out. The photo is odd because it looks like he’s going to grab me in the next second, but he was just trying to let me know I dropped something. That’s the glory of individual memory because I don’t remember everything about that guy, just his creepy nature, and the picture bears me out. (And if you were curious, yes, I was really looking at that lady’s legs in the background, which might have had something to do with my lack of memory of most else in the scene.)
Yeah, that guy was creepy anyway, even if he really was trying to tell me I dropped something.
My point is that our view of things is always colored by our previous experiences, and since we’re all different, we’ve all been through different situations that color our viewpoints. That’s why people often argue with others over what “actually happened” in any given situation. Sometimes the unique perspectives can lead to funny misinterpretations instead of to devastating issues that lead us to therapy sessions. The key is to make sure you keep the lines of communication open with others so there isn’t that opportunity for things to simmer under the surface and make us angry or sad for no reason, over a miscommunication or over a difference of opinionated memory.
That’s why shared memories aren’t always shared, even when they seem that way. Because maybe they just seem that way to you.
Sam
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