Cell phones have kind of ruined my memory. Being a child of the ’90s, I got a cellphone in 11th grade, which is unheard of today since kids now are given iPhones at their bris. I remember the home phone numbers of good childhood friends and will forever remember that awkward 30-second-but-felt-like-an-eternity interaction you had with a parent on a landline asking if your friend could come to the phone.
There’s stuff I remember that I’d be fine forgetting, like getting out first in the 4th grade spelling bee on the easiest word possible (“wholesome,” by the way). It just feels like the storage space in my brain is full of useless information, and it’s preventing more important things from getting in there. Like maybe I’d be a lot better at using Excel if I didn’t instantly recall that Steve Trachsel was the pitcher who gave up Mark McGwire’s 62nd homer in 1998. Maybe I’d be able to install a baby gate in my house if I didn’t know that Tobias was the Animorph who was stuck as a peregrine falcon. My point is that I’m convinced that just because I still remember the shortcut in Koopa Troopa Beach in MarioKart 64, it’s going to seriously impede my ability to learn how to eventually fly a hovercar.
