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On Stuff and Memory.
Oct. 19th, 2009 12:08 pmEvery little something you own takes a little piece of your memory. You have to remember that you own it, and what it looks like, so you can find it. You have to remember where it is and what it can be used for. You have to remember all the emotional associations the object has.
If it is a book, you have to remember which shelf it is on, or what stack of books, whether you enjoyed it or not, what the contents are, and probably a little about the writer too.
A stapler and you have to remember whether it is full of staples or not, and where its associated staples are. What sort of working condition it is in, and how to use it.
A top, and you remember how to wash it, what sort of occasions it is suitable for, and not, and what clothes and accesories you can wear with it.
A car, and there's an entire manual of information, a fair chunk of which you will end up learning and committing to memory: how the engine sounds when it is healthy, when its last service was, how much fuel it needs to go a given distance, where to refuel it and how much that costs, what your average consumption is, how to adjust the seat, which roads are enjoyable and which are a pain to drive down, traffic patterns and even radio schedules.
This may be why people who own very little can sometimes seem so at peace to the affluent. It explains one of the great joys of camping. It might explain why modern society feels so rushed, and I think it does explain why so many people instinctively shy away from new technologies. A life full of innovation is a life of perpetual mental tests, with low marks leading to a lot of frustration and wasted time.
It could be this factor that makes some people so very antipathic towards bare rooms. Without the constant mental chatter of remembered facts and emotions prompted by the sight of nearby Stuff, one is forced to contemplate either only the person inside, or the infinity of objects beyond the room.
If it is a book, you have to remember which shelf it is on, or what stack of books, whether you enjoyed it or not, what the contents are, and probably a little about the writer too.
A stapler and you have to remember whether it is full of staples or not, and where its associated staples are. What sort of working condition it is in, and how to use it.
A top, and you remember how to wash it, what sort of occasions it is suitable for, and not, and what clothes and accesories you can wear with it.
A car, and there's an entire manual of information, a fair chunk of which you will end up learning and committing to memory: how the engine sounds when it is healthy, when its last service was, how much fuel it needs to go a given distance, where to refuel it and how much that costs, what your average consumption is, how to adjust the seat, which roads are enjoyable and which are a pain to drive down, traffic patterns and even radio schedules.
This may be why people who own very little can sometimes seem so at peace to the affluent. It explains one of the great joys of camping. It might explain why modern society feels so rushed, and I think it does explain why so many people instinctively shy away from new technologies. A life full of innovation is a life of perpetual mental tests, with low marks leading to a lot of frustration and wasted time.
It could be this factor that makes some people so very antipathic towards bare rooms. Without the constant mental chatter of remembered facts and emotions prompted by the sight of nearby Stuff, one is forced to contemplate either only the person inside, or the infinity of objects beyond the room.
