Remembering to Forget

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“Die to the past every day, you don’t need it.” —Eckhart Tolle

The retelling of one’s personal history has been the cornerstone of psychotherapeutic practice for decades, and so many of my clients are surprised to learn that I want them to practice remembering to forget.

We live in an interesting age of brain science. As neuroscientists probe deeper into the workings of the mind, it seems that the more they learn the less we know. This is true for our current understanding of memory and how the brain stores and uses information. From the simple analogy of a filing cabinet to the workings of a computer, past theories about memory were analogous to a process of storing and retrieving. The current theory of memory describes a much more complex process involving a group of systems in the brain acting in concert to create a cohesive thought. The fact that this “concert” often sounds like a cacophony—a noisy reminder of all the things that have gone wrong in one’s life—suggests we should give memory a second thought. (One of my own favorite tunes is trying to recall if I unplugged the iron before leaving the house.)

For all its discoveries, science has yet to explain why it is that certain things stick with us, while others seem beyond mental reach. It also falls short when describing the impact of memory on the individual. Are we our memories? Who are we in the absence of working memory? Are past, present, and future separate or one large happening? Most important, why can’t I find my keys when I need them?

For me, the art of memory is much far more fascinating than the science of the brain. As a psychotherapist, I often sit with people whose memories are either burdens—a litany of regrets, sorrows, and losses—or comforting balms—soothing remembrances healing the miseries of their present lives. Some feel trapped, imprisoned by rusted chains; others never want to leave, bound by chains of gold.

The functional components of memory aside, what is it about the past that keeps so many of us in its grip? What do we sacrifice when reminiscing becomes our default mode, and the present moment is only recognized when it fades into the past tense?

The art of memory is the ability to recall what we need to deal with a situation, crisis, challenge, etc. and not get trapped in the net of the past. It’s remembering that the quality of our present day is the living past in us, or as Einstein noted, “Memory is deceptive because it is colored by today's events.”

When helping clients learn the art of memory, I find it helpful to point out the following:

• We’ve been taught that we are our stories.
• We prefer to remember what we’ve done over thinking about what we’re doing.
• We’ve been trained to avoid future anxieties by taking refuge in the past.
• We’ve been brainwashed into fearing that if we accept what is happening in the now, things will never change.
• We have been tricked into believing that we can solve tomorrow’s problems with yesterday’s mind.

I seldom prescribe Eckhart Tolle’s “dying to the past" remedy as it can leave a terrifying void if not properly managed. Instead, I begin with a mindful observation of the power the past has and how easily we get hooked by this power. After weighing the pros and cons—where the negative aspects almost always outweigh the positive gains—we explore what a life, freed from personal histories would feel like. Clients experiencing depression symptoms will report palpable relief as the burden of what was is lifted. I assure my anxious clients that we are not erasing memories and that they will have access to both the good and bad; however, the practice will give them the ability to hit rewind, forward, or pause on their mind’s mental wanderings.

While this process is easily practiced even without the guidance of a trained professional, the nature of memory—with its addictive quality—means that very quickly one falls back into the pattern of living in the world that has long since passed. When this rebound effect brings back troublesome memories, I suggest that we momentarily shift into the world of neuroscience which has discovered that “memory is a reconstructive process that is susceptible to distortion.” Put plainly, we need not believe everything we remember because what we remember is what we assemble to make meaning of our lives.

Daniel L. Schacter, in his book Searching for Memory: The Brain, the Mind, and the Past, outlined this creative process: “The unfolding drama of life is revealed more by the telling than by the actual events told. In the subjective and embellished telling of the past, the past is constructed—history is made.” Many clients find it liberating to move from being the victims of their memories to creators who have a direct hand in determining their shape, texture, and tone.

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