“Every
man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the
very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the
world's phenomena intersect, only once in this way, and never again.
That is why every man's story is important, eternal, sacred; that is
why every man, as long as he lives and fulfills the will of nature,
is wondrous, and worthy of consideration.”
– Demian:
The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth by Hermann Hesse
I
have started a project that probably has no end, and no real
immediate goal other than the process itself.
Because
I don't have enough to do, apparently.
I
recently read an advance copy of The Sculptor, the new graphic
novel by Scott McCloud (of Understanding Comics fame). My main
thoughts on the book will appear in a review for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, so this blog isn't meant as an examination of the book.
But The Sculptor was a springboard for thinking about a whole
lot of stuff, primarily the nature of memory and how we construct the
story of our lives.
The
main character in the book, David Smith, is a sculptor. Most of his
work is an attempt to capture the small moments of his life, to
immortalize his memories in stone so that fleeting impressions will
not be lost. The story is also about the reality that death awaits us
all sooner or later. The classic idea that when you die your entire
life passes before your eyes is used to great dramatic effect in the
narrative. I think the essence of this notion is that in that last
moment we will find some kind of clarity as to what all the small
events and memories of our lives meant. What was the structure and
theme of this life I've led? What did I learn from all of this?
Which
got me to thinking about my own memories and life. Parts of our lives
“flash before our eyes” every time we have a memory. So, I
thought to myself, why wait until I die to try and see the whole
picture and see what I can learn?
In
the series of books written by Carlos Castaneda, books that were very formative to me at one time, he introduces the idea of
Recapitulation (The Eagle's Gift, 1982). Recapitulation
consisted of “recollecting one's life down to the most
insignificant detail.” The purpose of this was to engage the past
in an effort let go of the things that held you back, to escape the
demands of ego. Recapitulation is “genuine laughter upon coming
face to face with the boring repetition of one's self-esteem, which
is at the core of all human interactions.”
In
short, it is used to heal. This idea isn't new or exclusive to
Castaneda. It's part of most forms of psychotherapy.
I've
been watching the Showtime series The Affair this week. No
real spoilers here, but the conceit of the show is a “He Said, She
Said” sort of dialectic. Both of the main characters are relating
the memories of what took place, and the differences are significant,
indicating not that they are lying (though they may be), but that
each of them perceived the events through their own subjective
filters (what some friends of mine have been referring to as Reality
Tunnels). Events had different meanings and significance for each of
them, based on their own experience and perceptions. They are both
unreliable narrators.
Memory
is the most unreliable narrator we know. Any given event is a moment in
time that passes, only to be relived through the subjective memories
of those who experienced it. No two people ever remember things
exactly the same way. The difficulty in getting to the truth from
eyewitnesses is evidence of this. What we end up with is a consensual
reality, a version of the world we can all agree on even when it
doesn't really mesh with what we remember. Over time, the story, if
told well enough and often enough, replaces the actuality, often in
the face of overwhelming evidence. The historical reality is always
replaced by the story we tell about it.
And
we all tell different stories.
I'm
fascinated by this. It's one of the themes in my Arthurian novel,
Bedivere: The King's Right Hand. The tale is narrated by Sir
Bedivere in the later years of his life, and he is very aware of not
only the failings of his own memory, but of how the stories and
legends of King Arthur have already supplanted what he remembers as
the truth.
I've
read that our memory of an event is an ever-renewing process as well.
When we have a memory of something what we are actually recalling is
our previous memory of it, like rewriting over an already existing
file. Each time we have a memory we are different people than the
last time we remembered it. So now it is filtered through different
layers of understanding, changing its meaning, therefore changing the
actual memory every time.
So,
that project I mentioned... Yeah, I'm trying to log all my memories.
All of them. I know. It's impossible. That's okay. There's no
deadline. This isn't for public consumption or any kind of project I
ever intend to put out into the world (though some of the more
interesting or funny stories may make it into a blog or a Facebook status update occasionally). This is navel gazing at it's finest.
I'm
trying to be somewhat organized with how I do this. I do just jot
down random things as they come to me. Not everything, of
course.There's simply not enough time for that. It's amazing how many
little memories you can have in a single day when you just start
really paying attention to how you think. I've created files organized into various categories, like specific school memories, broken down by
grade, or describing everything I can about the house I grew up in.
I'm working on a list of every concert I've seen (I've seen a lot),
and trying to track down dates and venues and who the opening bands
were. I have some old ticket stubs and of course the internet helps.
I have specific memories of all of these, some more vibrant that
others.
The
process is a rabbit hole, of course. When I focus on one topic, say
first grade, it's amazing how many things come back that I haven't
thought of in years, like snow forts and head wounds and the time the
teacher broke the paddle on Kathy's butt.
So
why do this? To get a better understanding of my own story and look
for the recurring themes. To let some of it go, I suppose, though I
don't have a lot of regrets. I'm one of the lucky ones who had a
pretty happy childhood. To get ideas for stories. To enhance my
creativity. To record my memories before they're gone (for whose
benefit after I'm not sure).
One
of the problems that David Smith has in The Sculptor was that
he was so invested in capturing his past that he had problems living
in the present or making new memories. I don't think that's a
problem. My recent bout of hibernation and introversion aside, I have
a pretty full life, and will hopefully continue to have one.
In
the meantime, Once Upon a Time, that reminds me of a story...
