Memory is not a recording. It is a story we tell ourselves — edited, embellished, and sometimes entirely reimagined with each retelling.
We like to think of memory as a faithful archive. But neuroscience tells us otherwise. Every time we remember something, we reconstruct it. The act of remembering is an act of creation.
This has profound implications for how we understand meaning. If our memories are not fixed, then neither is the meaning we derive from them. The story of who we are is always being rewritten.
This is not a weakness. It is a gift. It means we are not prisoners of our past. We can reinterpret our experiences, find new lessons in old wounds, and discover hope in places we once saw only despair.
Memory and meaning are dance partners. They move together, each shaping the other, in an endless choreography of human experience.