Fraudulent remembrance

Whilst revising for my A-level exams, I often found myself in a moment of combined panic and frustration. I would consequently fantasize about shredding the thick folders of notes that- to my Mums despair- were multiplying around the study. The thought of soon being able to do that dramatic relieving act, provided much motivation throughout my exams; so I was quietly amazed at my reluctance this week when I approached my desk with two hungry bin-liners. I started to feel nostalgic about the work that I have done these last two years. I fingered through my countless essays and could mostly remember where and when I wrote them and roughly how long each one took. I proceeded to search every back page for my mark, and on seeing many a red-circled A, remembered the bounteous enjoyment of achievement. I began to follow a pattern: open a folder, fish out only my highly marked work, and feed the rest to the bin-liner. This highly selective process made me judge my mentality- am I obsessed with success? By only salvaging my perfect work, am I demonstrating a denial of my shortcomings? I allow myself the benefit of the doubt that when I look back on my school days I want to be reminded of my accomplishments rather than my disappointments. It may be selective memory, but I perceive that we are all guilty of something I like to call “Fraudulent remembrance”.

The other day, Nanny played us all a tape that she had recorded from the radio many years ago. We eagerly listened to the host sing aloud some lyrics that Nanny had composed to the tune of “That’s Entertainment” and sent to the show. After the 4th time playing it, the kitchen was filled with a loving applause and Nanny, basking in her now recycled fame, replaced the tape in its case –ready, I expected- to return to a draw full of her proudest achievements. This was Nanny’s equivalent of A grade essays and possibly my Mum’s equivalent of old photographs of when she was tanned and slim. We seem to place undue affection on the things we are good at, often ignoring the relevance of our failures in creating a good balance. This can best be explained by drawing on a driving lesson experience. A couple of days ago, I emerged at a T-junction, and seeing that it was clear to the left, accelerated, before having to suddenly break hard as a mini whizzed past from the right. The incident doubled my concentration for the remainder of the lesson, and as a result, I have gained a far more cautious awareness of the dangers of the road. Was my needing to stop, a photo of mum as a chubby teenager that gave her the motivation to slim down in her twenties? We could never prove it- which either completely invalidates my theory or supports it.

We block out from our memories or physically throw away the bad experiences that have perversely inspired us to excel. We subconsciously trade-in short comings for achievements- and I’m afraid to say that until now, I have gladly left all my B and C-grade essays on the other side of the shop counter. In future, I will value the role that my failures have had in providing me with the stepping-stones to my successes. I have learned that when driving on the good vs. bad road of life, it is crucial to look both ways.