Musing on Memory

Why is memory such a slippery thing? Sometimes I wish I could remember everything: every word, every second of fleeting beauty nature has shared, every moment of exhilaration, every wonderful thing I have learned. But on the other hand do I want to remember all bad, unpleasant, or uncomfortable things? In some cases forgetfulness can be a blessing – for example the pain of childbirth, they say that you forget how bad it is in the encompassing joy of parenthood. And I, who have experienced what many claim to be worse pain than childbirth, kidney stones, am indeed thankful that I can think back on the experience with a mere shudder rather than with tears or groaning or writhing on the floor in agony.
I heard on the radio about a pill that supposedly robs memories of emotion – supposedly to help people with PTSD or those scarred from horrible experiences – so that they'd still remember, but without distress or terror or sadness or any of those things bundled up at the heart of the experience. Memory stripped of emotion = computer memory, which isn't really memory at all, but data storage. I am not saying it wouldn't be a tempting pill to pop, for survivors of atrocities, but can we really tamper with things that helped shape who we are as humans?
So many sunsets later, so many wind-blown-clouded skies, so many hugs and kisses, peas from the garden, choir concerts later, I am just thankful for the wealth of good memories I do have. It's partly why I write: to capture a moment that I want to remember. Some people take photographs, some write symphonies, some sculpt. I scribble.