I remember talking to my friend Mel a few weeks back. We we sipping on wine on a very drizzly Portland day while our friend Danen was talking to the bar manager. We were talking about the beginning of last year when I let it slip that I could name every time we hung from New Years up until I moved to Olympia inMarch, and even for a few weeks after that. I wasn’t too surprised when she looked at me funny. It’s a look I’ve been getting all my life.
I remember pretty much everything, especially when it comes to interactions with friends. Those are times I feel were rare when I was younger, so my memory clings to them in my adulthood, savoring the tastes and smells and sights each adventure has to offer. I can recall very specific details from interactions that happened years ago. I can tell you what I was feeling. I can tell you who said what. I can tell you what I listened to while I thought about you, and what I was drinking to forget you.
I’ve always been this way. Why? Why on earth is my brain so intent on cataloging so many little things in my life, exciting or mundane, and yet, I can never remember to bring my wallet or remember when I put my keys? Because in every day life, one is typically more important than the other.
But I suppose it stems from doing exactly this. Writing it down. From the time I was 10 or 11, I was writing everything in a journal. I filled up plenty of little journals as a kid, recounting my day, telling it about boys at school and girls I knew. I talked about those times that I had fun with this person or that one — almost never the same friend, since friends never did seem to last long when I was a kid.
Then I started a LiveJournal, I was sure that my readers wanted to know every detail of my silly little high school life. So I catered to that — I wrote about what I did. I wrote about hurting. I wrote about songs I liked and ranted that teenage angst that is so damn typical in girls at that age.
When I stopped writing for awhile, I noticed that my mind operated in a funny way. I remember this clearly — sitting in the dining hall my Junior year at WSU, watching the people around me. I narrated their actions. I listened to and made note of their conversations. I was writing an LJ post in my head, and I was narrating so that I could find something of interest to post — even though I had no conscious intention of actually writing in my LiveJournal.
I made note of it that night, in my little moleskine notebook I was using. I wrote that my mind operated like a LiveJournal post waiting to happen, rambling an assortment of facts and details. I think I drew a picture of a faucet with words flowing out of it, and wrote next to it “NO.” I didn’t want my mind to operate like that. I made a conscious effort to dedicate myself to thinking more critically and analytically.
It worked in some respect, but my mind still does take in life as if it’s preparing to write it down. And sometimes, of course, I do.
But because I still process my life like this, I remember more than most people. I remember too much, and so when I get in the mood I was in last night, where I want to wander down the street to remember someone, or that time when, it’s just too easy. Everything comes back like a flood, from the lighting in the room to the words spoken in whispers.
And then there’s the emotion attached. I remember that, too. It typically hits like a brick — especially if it’s a positive emotion. Sometimes I give myself a few minutes to close my eyes and remember every detail, and it’s like I’m back.
It’s the shittiest thing about writing everything down and snapping pictures to go along. You can’t forget, even if you wanted to. But then, I’m not sure I would want it any other way. Because it allows me to do this. And I love this.
But, if I could stop forgetting my wallet everywhere, it might be a fair trade.
Jami Sheets 
I always thought I was the only weirdo who mentally wrote everything out as a blogpost. I cherry pick my words, discard the ones that don’t work and I dither over sentence construction. It’s not enough that his eyes were brown- were they chocolate brown or coffee brown?
I don’t like that my brain works this way too. I feel as though I’m cheapening what I’m experiencing, as though I’m depersonalising so I can analyse it and so I can write about it. So I can pick the perfect word. It keeps me from getting in too deep, which sort of defeats the point; really. What’s life if you’re not getting in too deep sometimes?
I also catalogue everything. I am terrified of forgetting because I never know when it might be imperative for me to remember. When my memories are all that I have of the person, when memories and smells and that overpowering emotion is all that I have left to prove that they were there, that they were a part of my life, that they existed. I feel this so strongly now that I’ve lost my best friend- I’ve always kept things and little notes and I’ve committed so much of her to memory- but I still ache to remember the little things that I took for granted and that I forgot to record or it didn’t seem all that significant. Because now, now that she’s no longer here… everything becomes bigger and more important to hold on to. Because it becomes all the more important that I never forget.
I’m glad you love this. Love the writing, the pictures, the heartfelt emotion that you do so well. I’m glad. Because I love reading it.
I totally feel you on how it cheapens the experience. There’s always a balance to find between writing in your head and really experiencing the moment. It’s like a tight rope that you’re destined to fall from. On one side, you’re not experiencing those events because you’re busy writing them. On the other, after you’re done, there are those details you can never recall, which also feels like you’re cheapening the experience.
I think it’s just the curse of being a “writer” or whatever — you have to fall on one side or the other. It’s really tough.
Thanks so much for following me, Risha…your feedback is always flattering, especially given the caliber of your own writing. It’s a weird feeling to receive compliments from writers you respect so much.
Jami, this was beautiful. I loved it.
I have a really, really good memory too. Long term though. You can tell me something in conversation and I’ll remember it three months later, long after it’s relevant.
Thanks, Heather. I feel it’s something other writers can relate to…I have noticed that our minds tend to resemble vaults.
“It’s the shittiest thing about writing everything down and snapping pictures to go along. You can’t forget, even if you wanted to. But then, I’m not sure I would want it any other way. Because it allows me to do this. And I love this.”
I loved this post, but especially that part. There have been so many times I’ve wanted to “just forget it all” and move on, leaving behind a broken past. But my writing kept is safe for me, for whenever I was ready to reveal it again. And it brought it back like it was yesterday. I could never give that up.
Beautiful.
Jami — I surfed in from 20sb and I love the rest of this post. You know, I used to write everything down during high school too. It wasn’t so much that I thought everyone else would be interested in the mundane details of my life, but that *I* wanted to remember every precious moment spent with friends and loved ones. I used a day planner (so that every event was at least noted) and then a journal to record/expand on my thoughts and feelings. I could remember SO much about everything back then.
I stopped doing this when I moved away from home and I was so isolated that I knew no one and felt like there wasn’t much that I really wanted to remember in detail. I got depressed, but even though I couldn’t tell you in the same kind of exact detail what I had been doing, I still remembered more than the average person. I think that it was because even though I had stopped writing, I was still a writer at heart.
I don’t think any of us writers should feel strange that our brains work differently than other people’s. I’m sure that the brains of artists and engineers also function differently. Honestly, I would feel sad if I thought my brain *didn’t* work in a certain way that made me better able to do something interesting and special. You are very eloquent, so don’t worry too much about being a bit of a weirdo 😉