Travel memories

A log rests precariously on the edge of a rocky ledge. I took this photo while traveling through British Colombia last week. The area is part of Francis Point Provincial Park, wilds that have only been open to the public for a few years. They feel raw, undisturbed by humans, elemental.

How memory worksBut what happened in my brain when I saw the log, and what in addition had to happen for me to remember it? The simple answer is a network of neurons fired and a memory was born. But memories are not available for retrieval like items left in a locker at the train depot. Retrieving the memory requires the repeat firing of the same network of neurons. These neurons are spread all over the cortex with no single commander telling them when to fire. We now know that “neurons that fire together, wire together,” but how do we get a mass of neurons to fire together again without repeat exposure to what made them fire in the first place? It’s not like we can carry around a set of flashcards, like foreign language students, drilling our brains to recall our favorite memories. Viewing a photo can help evoke a memory or taking the time to write about something in a journal or blog, or yes, even tweet about it. These all help. But how does the brain remember one-time events without such memory devices?

Memory is making connections
Memory is making connections, linking one thing to another. Much of this linkage is subconscious and we preserve memories of events that can be activated by encountering something as simple as a smell. Re-encountering a smell that was part of an original sensory experience can cause the entire network of neurons involved in the memory to fire. Thus when I smell old wallpaper, I often recall sleeping in my Grandma’s house the week before she died in a bedroom with rose wallpaper and a white crocheted coverlet.

The brain's ability to form and retain connections makes comprehension possible. To a mind that cannot make connections (as studies on epilepsy and amnesia patients have shown) each instant is an isolated event without continuity, each thought fleeting and unrelated, each precept without relevance, each person a stranger, every event unexpected. No connections between the past, present and future would be like living a life with total amnesia.

Connecting an event to our life story makes it memorableSo memories are strings of neurons that fire together. But what’s interesting to me is the role our life stories play in what we remember and what we forget? Encounters become memorable when we link them to something known. We use phrases like “I put two and two together,” or “Fill in the dots” to describe how one thing gets linked to another in our minds. A life story is a valuable tool for organizing and connecting otherwise random events. You could think of your life story as a substrate upon which new memories are built. This substrate contains themes and characters, even expected plot twists and endings. When we connect a current event to a known theme or a known character, the new event is remembered. But there’s a drawback to this helpful memory aid. We often ignore the ways in which the new events or the new people are unique, different from what we’ve previously encountered.

Every new event has novel elements
A 2009 experiment by psychologist Daniel L. Schacter of Harvard showed that neuronal firing in the brain is different every single time a subject experiences an event, even when the circumstances are quite similar. Our brains have evolved to not only link things together through an ongoing narrative, but also to see what’s different this time around. To me that means, no matter how important our life stories are, they are not us. We can continue to see through them, around them. We can draw apart the veil they cast over our current experience and direct our attention to what’s different. To me, this is the true power of "living in the now."

Attention allows us to shape our life stories
The ability to direct our attention allows us to continue to shape our life stories throughout our lives. We are not stuck with some scratched record that keeps playing the same line of a song over and over. We can use our life stories to make sense of new events while also using our attention to expand our stories through those events. The story provides general categories (themes) and our ongoing experiences provide the ability move beyond the general and perceive differences. These perceived differences can then lead to new categories (new themes). For example, a general theme that “men cannot be trusted,” can benefit from the brain's ability to discriminate differences leading to “some men cannot be trusted, but Tim can.”

Working backwards
Once we know that neurons anchor life experiences by connecting them to our life stories (with their themes and characters and expected endings), we can expand our life experience. All we need to do is to look for what's different. If you have a story about so-and-so being unreliable, you can ask your brain to look for at least three instances in which so-and-so was actually reliable. If you have a story about never being lucky, you can ask your brain to find at least three instances in which you were the lucky one. Soon, instead of seeing all life events as unlucky, you’ll begin to notice that there is always more going on, always more you could turn your attention to, should you choose to do so. This is the gift of attention. I, for one, choose to turn my attention towards thoughts that feel good. When I'm distressed, I look for thoughts that feel kind, thoughts that feel accepting, thoughts that feel peaceful. I can always find a better feeling thought.

How are you directing your attention?

My thanks to Anthony Greene, Associate Professor of Psychology at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee for helping me shape these thoughts. Pr. Greene runs a learning and memory lab.

How our life stories impact our reality

A life story is a running narrative that impacts the present by filtering perceptions, highlighting certain sensory impressions and subordinating others. But a life story does more than influence our perception of the present. A life story also reshapes our memory of the past and our anticipation of the future.

Why we need a life story
We use this running narrative to place any single live event within the flux of an entire lifetime of events. We use it to decide what that individual event means—what it means about who we are, how we relate to others and what life holds in store for us. Without an ongoing narrative, each event would be spliced up and floating, sans context, in a meaningless sea of other bits and pieces.

Life stories come from the left hemisphere
New brain research can now show us (through fMRI scans, stroke victim research and split-brain re-search) that it is the left hemisphere of the brain that is the storyteller. The left hemisphere wants to string things together into a linear pattern, while the right hemisphere tries to observe the whole at once. In other words, our life story considers a distorted portion of our external reality, and is not built around some true representation of “the way things are.”

The way things are
In their 1966 book, The Social Construction of Reality, Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann argue that all knowledge, including the most basic, taken-for-granted common sense knowledge of everyday reality, is derived from and maintained by social interactions. This theory, later extrapolated as social constructivism, can help us understand socially what brain research shows neurologically. Objective reality is a slippery slope, and what we see, think and feel is a construction of pieces rather than a given whole.

We have to believe it to see it
We have all heard the expression, “I’ll have to see it to believe it.” In large measure, the opposite is true. We have to believe something is possible before we can see its manifestation in the world around us. As Paul Simon said, “A man sees what he wants to see and disregards the rest.” This is a literal description of how our eyes see. Our eyes take in sensory impressions, but from perceiving to seeing, the information our eyes relay is translated into “mental inventions.” The neurons in our brains respond to these mental inventions, and only after this translation has occurred does the image become conscious. Our underlying beliefs about what we’re seeing, based upon our interpretations of past experience, factor into the mental invention stage of seeing before we are even conscious that we are seeing anything at all. Basically, we don’t get a conscious say in what we decide to see. Vision is automatic, yes, but it’s also constructed—each and every glimpse.

Do you see the smiley face in the photo of the moon and stars or in the plant photo at the beginning of this post? Your ability to form mental categories is what allows you to think of it as a smiley face. In the same way you see a smiley face when there is no face at all, you also see representations of bits of your life story everywhere you go and in every interaction you have.

The life story’s greatest gift
A life story bestows a hugely important gift on each of us. It gives us a sense of self. We use our running narratives to perceive things as happening to a single consciousness. No story line, no sense of self. But stories of all kinds are by nature limiting. By placing a frame around our perceptions, they keep some in and others out. That’s why careful examination of the tone, themes, and buried beliefs in our life stories has rare value. I teach a life stories class for the University of Utah’s Lifelong Learning program that steps participants through this discovery process and would like to open up a similar online exploration. If you are interested in meeting with an group to explore your life story, please feel free to contact me at Sharon@newinkcopy.com.