MEMORY IS A TANTRUM.
Many readers have asked me about this line. Folks often seem to be bewildered by it—not unpleasantly, I hope. I, too, am pleasantly bewildered by it. When traveling on airplanes, I often write on barf bags. This particular line was rescued from one such barf bag. I don’t remember where I was coming from, or where I was going (memory is a tantrum, you see—often insisting on itself, even when it’s incorrect, incomplete, and faulty—its loudness often obscuring clarity and accuracy). I began to wonder about the innate tenuousness of memory, but also about how the stories of our lives often depend on deluding ourselves into thinking that our memories are structurally-sound. I began to wonder how the faulty nature of memory—collectively and individually, across history and culture—has also affected the content and impact of many of the myths, histories, and “truths” we hold sacrosanct. Being 30,000 feet above the earth sometimes has this effect on me. In any case, I started making a list on the barf bag: Memory is a blue whale, memory is a firefly, memory is an asteroid, memory is a dying star, memory is a prayer, memory is a tantrum, memory is a bell, memory is a ghost, memory is Pluto, memory is a tentacle… (FYI: Many of the “lists” in the book were originally written in this way, on airplanes). The tantrum variation stuck with me, bewildered me (deliciously so), and compelled me to interrogate it until I began to make sense of it. Yes, I thought: memory is often petulant, cheeks flushed and stamping its feet. Before I had to put my tray table back up on the descent, I circled this one. Here’s a fun writing exercise: Try making a list like this. What is memory to you? Get associative and weird. Have fun. Post your examples here, if you like.
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