Buttressed Memories
In the book Tress of the Emerald Sea, author Brandon Sanderson opens one of the chapters with a discussion on memories. Particularly, the idea of buttressed memories. Memories so built up in our minds that it seems like nothing can tear them down. Here's the specific line in context:
If we let it, memory can make shadows of the now, as nothing can match the buttressed legends of our past.
I think anyone can identify with this idea. I know I do, and it got me thinking about what buttressed memories or legends of my past I carry around with me.
Surely my upbringing had to be one (or many) of them. Up until high school, I had been living overseas. As I remember it, as the eyes of a little boy saw it, this was a time of joy and laughter with my family. Things were different, but it was what I knew and what made sense to me.
For my dad, who had his high school years in the 70s, it's life in the 70s. Things seemed simpler in the 70s. We weren't dealing with the things we talk about now in the 70s. The music was better in the 70s.
Personal memories of experiences lived aren't the only thing affected. There are so many little things that show up throughout life that give us this feeling. Take this niche bit of technological history, for example.
As a longtime user of the macOS operating system, you may remember when Apple released OS X Snow Leopard back in 2009. It built on the major changes made in Leopard, making it one of the most smooth and bug-free operating system experiences in recent memory. As some lament the current state of macOS, you can still find plenty of people online remembering fondly the days of Snow Leopard.
These are only a few simple examples, but they make me ask questions. Was life better overseas? Were there fewer problems in the 70s? Was Snow Leopard actually that great, or has my memory of it gotten a little more fuzzy as the years go on?
As Sanderson writes, we crave the “the peaks and valleys of experience,” and as a result, we “cherish those little rocks of peak experience, polishing them with the ever-smoothing touch of recycled proxy living.”
Talk about a powerful idol we set up for ourselves to worship.
And what does such frequent reverent dwelling on the past do to the memories we make in the present? What if we're failing to notice the joys, hardships, or even and especially the little moments in our lives by being so focused on what has been?
I recently wrote a note that describes some of those little or overlooked moments we often fail to notice. Busy lives, screens taking our attention away, dwelling on the past. These are only a few of the things that cause us to miss out on those little or even big things.
With all this in mind, what does that mean for me?
I might take some hints from Marie Kondo. Thanking each of my memories for their service each time I visit them, but not throwing those memories away after. Instead, acknowledging them for what they are and the rose-colored lenses through which I view them. Recognizing that each time I visit them, I don't quite get everything right and polish away a few more of the details. Understanding that, as Sanderson puts it, “You can't taste a memory without tainting it with who you've become.”
These memories are important, vital to shaping who I am now. But they are only one part of many that make me me, and I should take care to not let them become the measure by which I judge my current life.
Read the full Sanderson quote
I love memories. They are our ballads, our personal foundation myths. But I must acknowledge that memory can be cruel if left unchallenged.
Memory is often our only connection to who we used to be. Memories are fossils, the bones left by dead versions of ourselves. More potently, our minds are a hungry audience, craving only the peaks and valleys of experience. The bland erodes, leaving behind the distinctive bits to be remembered again and again.
Painful or passionate, surreal or sublime, we cherish those little rocks of peak experience, polishing them with the ever-smoothing touch of recycled proxy living. In so doing—like pagans praying to a sculpted mud figure—we make of our memories the gods which judge our current lives.
I love this. Memory may not be the heart of what makes us human, but it's at least a vital organ. Nevertheless, we must take care not to let the bliss of the present fade when compared to supposedly better days. We're happy, sure, but were we more happy then? If we let it, memory can make shadows of the now, as nothing can match the buttressed legends of our past.