As I have a fairly bad memory about many things (although a surprisingly precise memory about series of numbers), I have recently become curious about the phenomenon known as Confabulation. I find it fascinating that we can fill in and make up details about our past without realizing we are doing so. Often times, people can get upset with others they believe have embellished or changed the details of a story they share in a common history, probably because they believe there is some intentional machination behind it. But how reliable are anyone’s memories about anything? Time and again it has been proved that human memory is deeply flawed. And it is deeply upsetting to people to realize that, because it calls into question the veracity of our experiences, and with that, our identities. On the other hand, if we accept from the outset that things are not perfect and our memories are somewhat suspect, perhaps we can be both kinder to ourselves and others, and more apt to live in the present. And anyway, no matter how many times I distinctly remember winning the lottery, my bank account it still empty, alas.
This photo, from a couple of years ago at a wedding in the Punjab, always cracks me up for some reason.