Ephemeral

ephemeral - adj - lasting a very short time; short-lived; transitory. Sometimes we judge the value of experiences by how ephemeral they are. How short lived the experience is, or how short lived the memory of it is, is likely to be are weighed against the risks and the effort put in. At the he

art of that equation is memory, an uncontrollable variable. Memory is often ephemeral, but it is also the reason anything else is ephemeral.

How quickly and how thoroughly memory decays is inconsistent within our own lives, and inconsistent with the experience of others. Layered under that is what is noticed. What remains are continuously conflicting memories of the past. In a very vague sense there is some cohesion, but it falls apart pretty quickly once details start being introduced. We all understand this challenge and run into issues because of it daily. It exists in a broad societal scale as much as at the individual level. Within this seemingly universal experience most people just "go with the flow." It is largely accepted that this is how things are, and it's almost background noise to our lives, despite the constant effects. If we have to memorize lines or study for an exam we have to put in significant effort, knowing how hard it is to hold onto.

There seem to be different levels of realizing and coping with this challenge. Many seem to be blissfully giving the issue no attention. Some, however, become quite obsessed because of it. I would be one of those people. My memory and recall are fairly sharp, which as far as I can tell only causes more distress. As my relationship with this mismatch in memory fidelity progressed over my life I have experienced varied phases of Anger, Confusion, Desperation, Exasperation, that have lead me to the peculiar position I am in today. Escape. Anger - Everyone is lying.

Early in life, I leaned towards believing that I was being intentionally misled, which is a logical conclusion for a child to arrive at. Often you notice that you are being told parts of the truth or outright lies. Generally there is no nefarious reason, but simply an effort to shield a young mind from things it is not yet prepared for or lacks the experiential context to understand.

My childhood was surrounded by many difficult situations where being honest to me would have been as morally questionable, if not more, than lying to me. The problem with that is that kids often are far more perceptive than we give them credit, even though we were all once kids noticing when adults would sugar coat things. I am not sure there is a real way around it. I am neither directly criticizing nor endorsing the practice. The point at this moment is simply to identify it and how it plays into the larger puzzle of my development.

How would you explain to a child what they would much later come to understand was a parent with a fresh, self-inflicted wound? It is very unlikely that you would be self aware enough to explain, "I'm in a spiral of depression and desperation and for a brief moment this seemed like a means to an end. Now that I am more clear minded, I am greatly embarrassed that I cannot hide this from you." If you were aware, that response would still be morally questionable. So, the explanation will be of some strange, seemingly plausible, accident. What I remember being told was, "I was carrying a candle and wasn't being careful and spilled some wax on my arm."

As a kid, I lacked the ability to articulate my thoughts and concerns, or the ability to properly conceptualize the cognitive dissonance caused by the conflict with my primitive forensic logic. Many early experiences in my life are vivid, but also anchored to my thoughts I was having. Perhaps ruminating about the unresolved questions embedded them in my memory. I recall thinking that the location of the injury seemed inconsistent with the stated cause. I recall being confused, wondering, "can candle wax actually do that? I'm not understanding how." I don't remember making any assumptions of what may have actually happened, just the recognition of "That doesn't really make sense." One piece of information made its way through. I knew that whatever did happen, she felt she needed to protect me from the truth of it. However, all I took away from it was that mom is being harmed. If something happens to mom, I'm left with dad blacking out drunk with a lit cigarette every night. I'll die. None of us are safe. All that said, how would it have been better answered in the moment I asked? That is not something I have found an answer to. I've never felt like I held that instance against my mother, and I would be the greatest defender of her.

The example is useful as true example of little white lies children are told all the time. Perhaps a bit darker, but more difficult for someone to say they would be honest in the situation.

That murkiness did not exist in a vacuum. My father was prone to lie for countless reasons. Pride and ego seemed to be the primary motivators, but just about any other emotion or rationalization you can imagine is also a fine catalyst. Lies to disparage another. Lies to cover for wrong doing. Lies to excuse behavior. Lies to manipulate others. Regardless of their motivation or intent, they all crucially conflicted with reality. As a child, you are often present, but not directly involved. You see and hear many things incidentally. Later, when someone lies about what happened, they are focused on the immediate interaction, and that doesn't involve you. No one is thinking about the kid who was present initially, and right now, who is trying to figure out if they remembered wrong, if the person is remembering wrong, or if it is something else entirely. It seems an awful lot like this forbidden lying concept I have had explained to me. Is it hypocrisy, or do they truly believe what they're saying? Lies have a way of revealing themselves. Perhaps not each individual one, but as a broader trend. If your words do not match reality, evidence won't argue in your favor. It did not take long growing up to recognize how much lying I was hearing. I didn't internalize it as normal or acceptable behavior, though. I lacked the ability to accept it or turn a blind eye to it. It was the most expensive thing in my life, and it cost me greatly. I stand by believing that it is objectively better, but the consequences can sometimes seem to punish the one who refuses to lie more than the liar.

I have dealt with OCD as long as I have memory. To lie would cause me intense anxiety. I often would tell on myself before anyone knew I had made an error. My rigid thinking wanted to impose my rules on others as well, so hearing others lie became more problematic as my OCD and I grew in unison. Obsessing over the strict and often irrational rules that had formed in my mind. I progressed from being more sensitive to lies, to eventually feeling intense obligation to call them out. Similarly, the complications in my life expanded exponentially also throughout my upbringing.

Between the white lies I could spot as misdirection, even if I couldn't spot the reason, and the outright lies frustrating me daily, I became frustrated with the world around me. If anyone remembered something differently than I did, then they must be lying. I could not accept that they may be remembering wrong, or that I may be. I wasn't looking for an explanation. I had one. Everyone remembers things exactly as well as me and they're lying to me for some reason. To forget was acceptable, but to disagree about events was not.

Confusion - Maybe I have a bad memory?

My initial theory fit fine enough until I moved out at 18. For much of my upbringing, the conclusion I had drawn made sense, and was a product of the environment I was in. Once I was on my own, the theory quickly stopped fitting.

What I was left with for a theory quickly became that I must have a bad memory. Everything in my life had now changed drastically, but the issue seemed to be persisting. This was one of many issues to ruminate about, and largely occupied the background of life. However, it could not be entirely ignored. It always bothered me.

The overall pattern appeared the same, but the underlying mechanics did not logically match up. The mental framework for why people lie simply did not fit well. Most often I could imagine no benefit that could cause the deviation from the truth. Occasionally, a correct retelling of events would have benefitted the person greatly. I was failing to identify a coherent motivation. Lacking motivation or obvious intention, the remainder is that my recollection does not match others. I am the common factor in all of these experiences, so I must have a bad memory.

This did not retroactively change my view of my past, however. It existed more as a clean fracture. Childhood on one side, young adulthood on the other. I was actively trying to suppress and push out my childhood, not reevaluate it for accuracy. So childhood basically remained in quarantine with the explanation that had been well validated, and my life now was a new one, with its own problems. My memory seeming to be the largest issue.

This all existed as a part of life, and I was not obsessively focused on it. I was only cognitively aware and questioning it. If my memory is so bad, why do I seem to be able to perform so well when it is tested on exams? I can flip through my notebook for an answer, knowing the answer is in that book, on the bottom right of the right page, about 3/4 into the notebook.

In competition with those thoughts was the general social consensus that had landed on me having a bad memory, and it turning into a kind of joke. With consistent reinforcement, it was easy to just accept it. I began to just automatically defer in situations where my memory conflicted with others. With the information available, it seemed reasonable, and the situations were typically low-stakes, so the habit of going with the social consensus seemed to cost me less than standing my ground.

This continued for probably over a decade. Part of who I was seemed to be an atypical person with sometimes horrible and sometimes impressive memory. There was something present even then that I could not see. My memory was considered astounding in ways where it could be objectively verified. Where my memory was considered deficient was essentially only in subjective matters. I could solve a Rubick's Cube handed to me based on an algorithm I spent half a day memorizing years earlier. I could inadvertently memorize lines from TV shows my brothers were watching, and they made a game of quizzing me randomly on them. What was provable showed I had an exceptional memory. What comes up much more often are interactions and events. That is where I was considered to lack any ability to remember anything. They had no proof for their position, and neither did I, but I had already accepted my label so I would assume I was wrong and be frustrated with myself rather than challenge it.

Desperation - No, I'm correct and I can actually prove it with evidence!

I cannot say exactly when it happened, but at some point my obsessive tendencies grabbed hold of the topic. I was determined to resolve this life long issue. It has bothered me long enough and I must be proactive.

So, instead of writing off myself as right or wrong on a memory when there was conflict, I chose to try and close the loop, where possible, to set things straight in my head. The digitalization of the world aided in this effort. If there is a text, e-mail, or message regarding the issue, I can verify what is correct and that will bring me reassurance of factual reality.

Well that change is what turned it over into what truly became an obsession. A majority of the time, if I could find evidence, it turned out my recollection was the one correct. This lit a fire inside. I no longer believed the story I've been fed, and I wanted to fight that perception of me.

This change, which I am reflecting on now, was not as obvious and direct as a focused evaluation of these things makes it seem, and I was not aware that I was becoming unhealthily obsessed. In daily life, perhaps once or twice a week, we run into situations of mismatching memories of events or interactions. So, while I was becoming obsessed with the topic and vindication, it still only exists as a blip in life... if you aren't the one obsessed. For me, it was becoming maddening.

If someone said I was wrong, that I had remembered wrong, or forgotten, it would initiate a process of wasting hours upon hours to find a way to prove I was correct. The saddest part to me is that while the manifestation looked like an obsession with being correct, the reality is I was obsessed with being believed. It was not a game to me in which I was tallying points against opponents. It was closer to perceiving every disagreement as a charge I needed to be vindicated of.

Unfortunately, the manifestation looks like what it looks like. Someone who cannot accept being wrong. The fun thing about that is it is a reason to dismiss you. We could have a disagreement, and I may return with a mountain of evidence, but none of it is taken seriously. Its dismissed as, "yeah, he can't handle being wrong." So the evidence I compiled out of desperation to be heard is now receiving a patronizing glance and the record is remaining uncorrected.

Exhaustion - ...It doesn't change anything.

I label it exhaustion as a phase, but depression is a major part of it. I was collecting an ever growing mental database of experiences where: reality is disputed, I can prove beyond doubt that I am not wrong, and it is being basically ignored. I believe the resulting frustration is what led me to finally being able to realize that I was obsessing. All the tension building up inside of me had to be reconciled with the fact that I had my answer, and that was that no one cares.

I am the only one seemingly bothered by all of this. Showing someone else evidence that should make them revise their position is not changing anything. No one I've confronted on the matter seems bothered by the discontinuity of life nor the implications. No one is even seeming surprised or curious. It is all being met with complete disinterest.

I was trying to force others to acknowledge reality, but had not previously realized the irony of it, in that I was ignoring the reality that no one cares. Whether I agree with it or not, the evidence was clear and present. What do I do with this information? I cannot pretend I do not see it. My mind is wired to see it.

The immediate result was something reminiscent of complete and utter defeat. Some of the situations were work related, conflicting accounts of what occurred. Many were personal. The period of desperation was long enough that I felt like it had in some way touched and tainted every aspect of social life and left me with no where to retreat but into myself.

Disillusioned, I was finding it increasingly hard to engage with anyone. I could silently observe two people disagreeing, know with certainty who was right, but lacked any desire to speak. What would be the point? I won't change their minds, but I will draw their ire towards me.

In this disillusionment I became more observant, having no desire to speak. Not planning responses or arguments, but observing with no intent, I was able to start spotting patterns. Beyond memory of a situation, what is observed in the moment is not universal. Neither person is acknowledging the forest, but they are both describing trees within it. Others are internalizing their emotions at the time with the situation, skewing the reality of it, or sometimes present emotions are causing them to retroactively place interpretation on the memory without justification for doing so.

True accuracy, devoid of perception, is not the desire of most people. That is not to claim what is, but only to say what is not, and that lack of desire for that accuracy is a large part of why I am not connecting with others.

My mind, for whatever reason, has an affinity for accuracy. It is a driving force even when accuracy and truth do not benefit me, but actually cost me. Whether it's a manifestation of OCD or not, I have something within me that demands I admit if I lied and endure what consequence may come. If I speak in error, having misunderstood something or judged a situation with incomplete information, I feel obligated to correct the record with who I spoke to. If a past event is in question, I easily become obsessed with closing that loop. Regardless of what may be the causes, contributors, or accomplices for my tendency, the fact remains that it exists prominently.

Attempting to moralize the situation is precarious as well. Can I say overwhelming desire for truth and accuracy is "good?" Well, if it is a drive within me that I seek without much control, then in what sense is that good? If viewed that way, it would be similar to calling a tree "good" for holding all those leaves up in the air. Yes, it does do that... But to call it performing its function as morally good or bad is a bit odd.

Conversely, could I call a lack of this quality "bad?" Certainly not. This one factor is not synonymous with deception. Lacking an obsessive drive towards objective accuracy is not inherently bad. Most of the behavior I have observed lands in a very neutral area. What is noticed in a moment and what can be recalled is something we all seem to have very little control over. I can't explain why I remember the things I do any better than someone who remembers differently can explain why they do. It does not seem to be a matter of effort or intent, for the most part. I could argue that what someone remembered was convenient or self-serving, but I have no way of knowing if that was extracted from a more clear picture. Perhaps what was most convenient is all that stuck.

So I have drifted around observing and come to what conclusion? That placing morality on memory is a hard sell. That society seems content operating on vibes. That disrupting that societal flow is often unwelcomed and unappreciated. That if I try to engage others on this topic I will be written off an ignored as "too philosophical," or some other dismissive label to imply I'm poorly using my time. Which, in refutation of that point, I'm not blankly staring at a wall motionless ruminating about these things. I am usually working. Installing something, fixing something, or building something and this is occurring simultaneously.

Escape - Breaking the fourth wall of the temporal plane. Again, I have focused on and tried to dissect some aspect of life only to largely conclude that I am atypical. In the last year or so I have had to decide in what manner to continue with the information. I have established that my memory may be provably more accurate than others, but also that it is a burden far more than it is a benefit. If I cannot change how I am, and if it will never match others, then what is a path forward?

What has arisen for now is something quite odd that I refer to as breaking the forth wall of reality. With the awareness that I will track life with continuity and the awareness that others will not with high fidelity, I started to call it out in the moment. I have, on numerous occasions, disengaged from arguments by pointing at it, and walking away. I will get drawn into arguments, as anyone does, but occasionally this realization will become present of mind and reset everything for me. In one argument, this hit me nearly mid sentence, and all frustration just evaporated. Physically I just relaxed entirely, and said, "This doesn't matter. By next week, I'll be the only one who remembers this happened." Then I walked off content. To test my theory, I asked that same person about two weeks later if they remembered it, because the next day they never brought it up and weren't seemingly still bothered. When I asked, she responded, "Dang it. I remember you saying I wouldn't remember, so I tried to... Yeah, no idea." What initially looked like cynicism now seemed to be a viable option. Accept that I am how I am, others are how they are, and not let the dissonance arouse anger or frustration inside of me. I can be more at peace by not letting it control me, while also not pretending it isn't there.

This sounds all well and good for mundane daily life, but what about if someone is maliciously lying? That is distinct from differing memory, and if you disregard the dissonance how will lies be found or stopped? Well, for me, it resolves that as well. Maybe someone is lying, maybe they aren't, but I can never know for certain. I have always tended to prioritize objective information over what anyone is saying anyhow. I don't need to discern the truth of a statement if it is not affecting my judgement. This has often be interpreted as cold, but it is naturally how I am, and this journey has given me no reason to revisit the model.

I refer to it as having broken the fourth wall because it legitimately feels distinctly different when it is present in my mind. Like standing back and observing a movie I am no longer fully integrated into. Wondering: If the majority accept the lie as reality, and few of us truly recall what happened, then in what sense is that reality?

... Perhaps I am overlooking a much more important point. What justifies me being so certain of my memories? The most of what I have done here is make a case for how fragile and ephemeral memories are, but in what sense have I proven I am any exception to this? Sure, I vaguely cite instances of having irrefutable evidence to support my memory, but maybe that is just the distorted memory I have of a situation that was very different in the actual moment.

Looking at what I presented for face value, we must strip my perception of matters out of stories. What remains are anecdotes where I disagree on recent past with another, and the evidence I feel irrefutably justifies my position is regularly dismissed by them. In my own retelling, I am the only person convinced by my evidence. Without the exact details, it is equally justifiable to interpret what I say as delusions of a man receiving pretty clear feedback he is wrong.

I cannot rule out the possibility that my memory and perception are least reliable of them all. If I try to make a case for the contrary, it is still done within my own mind and with my own memory, which are the very things now in question. In what sense can I really trust whatever conclusion I come to?

Have I had proven to me before that I was indeed remembering incorrectly? Yes. That being non-zero is sufficient to call the rest to question. Surely not all of my memories are incorrect, but even if it were a rarity, I cannot internally discern which are valid or invalid. Beyond that, can I be certain the evidence presented to me that proved to me I was wrong did actually prove that?

Consider this: I have a memory. Someone claims I am incorrect. They present proof to me that I am wrong, and I now believe I was incorrect. Well we have established that I was wrong at least once. Either with the initial memory, or now with the revision. In most instances, I could at most argue that I was convinced that I was wrong. That would remain regardless of the validity of what changed my mind. Suppose, however, that the thing that changed my mind was fabricated for just this purpose. Manufactured with willful intent to have me replace my factual memory with something more convenient to the manufacturer. I could now believe that I have done something commendable. I have allowed myself to be corrected. I was not endlessly stubborn in the face of evidence. The reality of that instance being only that I was easily misled, and am proud of myself for it.

Well, if I can be convinced by false evidence that I am wrong, is it not equally plausible that I could independently convince myself something is evidence supporting my recollection when it is not actually doing that? The best evidence for that would be no one being convinced by my so called evidence...

What if the memory involves me and another person, and what if both our memories are independently identical? What weight does that hold if I have discredited both of us? Their matching memory is validation when it agrees with me, but dismissed immediately if it differs? Is my perception actually built around how self-serving each interaction is? Not if it is damaging to me. Unless, there is some motivation underneath the surface that has found a way to benefit.

As I pick this apart, looking for answers or certainty, there is surely irony in the fact that it is only my memories, lacking current verification, that I am drawing on to analyze this.

Perhaps the real question is whether any of us can hold a memory in focus long enough to examine it honestly. As I ruminate by candle light, I realize that the flicker of the flame is more stable then our recollection of it.