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Why Time Slows Down When We’re Afraid, Speeds Up as We Age, and Gets Warped on Vacation

The reminiscence bump involves not only the recall of incidents; we even remember more scenes from the films we saw and the books we read in our late teens and early twenties. … The bump can be broken down even further — the big news events that we remember best tend to have happened earlier in the bump, while our most memorable personal experiences are in the second half.

[…]

The key to the reminiscence bump is novelty. The reason we remember our youth so well is that it is a period where we have more new experiences than in our thirties or forties. It’s a time for firsts — first sexual relationships, first jobs, first travel without parents, first experience of living away from home, the first time we get much real choice over the way we spend our days. Novelty has such a strong impact on memory that even within the bump we remember more from the start of each new experience.

Most fascinating of all, however, is the reason the “reminiscence bump” happens in the first place: Hammond argues that because memory and identity are so closely intertwined, it is in those formative years, when we’re constructing our identity and finding our place in the world, that our memory latches onto particularly vivid details in order to use them later in reinforcing that identity. Interestingly, Hammond points out, people who undergo a major transformation of identity later in life — say, changing careers or coming out — tend to experience a second identity bump, which helps them reconcile and consolidate their new identity.

If you love her enough (A must read story)

ispeakquotes:


My friend John always has something to tell me. He knows so much that young men have to have older and more worldly wise men to tell them. For instance who to trust, how to care for others, and how to live life to the fullest.

Recently, John lost his wife Janet. For eight years she fought…

If you love her enough

My friend John always has something to tell me. He knows so much that young men have to have older and more worldly wise men to tell them. For instance who to trust, how to care for others, and how to live life to the fullest.

Recently, John lost his wife Janet. For eight years she fought against cancer, but in the end her sickness had the last word.

One day John took out a folded piece of paper from his wallet. He had found it, so he told me, when he tidied up some drawers at home. It was a small love letter Janet had written. The note could look like a school girl’s scrawls about her dream guy. All that was missing was a drawing of a heart with the names John and Janet written in it. But the small letter was written by a woman who had had seven children; a woman who fought for her life and who probably only had a few months left to live.

It was also a beautiful recipe for how to keep a marriage together.

Janet’s description of her husband begins thus: “Loved me. Took care of me. Worried about me.”

Even though John always had a ready answer, he never joked about cancer apparently. Sometimes he came home in the evening to find Janet in the middle of one of those depressions cancer patients so often get. In no time he got her into the car and drove her to her favorite restaurant.

He showed consideration for her, and she knew it. You cannot hide something for someone who knows better.

“Helped me when I was ill,” the next line reads. Perhaps Janet wrote this while the cancer was in one of the horrible and wonderful lulls. Where everything is — almost — as it used to be, before the sickness broke out, and where it doesn’t hurt to hope that everything is over, maybe forever.

“Forgave me a lot.”

“Stood by my side.”

And a piece of good advice for everyone who looks on giving constructive criticism as a kind of sacred duty: “Always praising.”

“Made sure I had everything I needed,” she goes on to write.

After that she has turned over the paper and added: “Warmth. Humor. Kindness. Thoughtfulness.” And then she writes about the husband she has lived with and loved the most of her life: “Always there for me when I needed you.”

The last words she wrote sum up all the others. I can see her for me when she adds thoughtfully: “Good friend.”

I stand beside John now, and cannot even pretend to know how it feels to lose someone who is as close to me as Janet was to him. I need to hear what he has to say much more than he needs to talk.

“John,” I ask. “How do you stick together with someone through 38 years — not to mention the sickness? How do I know if I can bear to stand by my wife’s side if she becomes sick one day?”

“You can,” he says quietly. “If you love her enough, you can.”

http://authorsquote.com/Inspiring-Short-Stories/If-you-love-her-enough

(Source: motivational-story)

in 1950 at age eighteen I arrived in Spain to study at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando in Madrid. I fell madly for Spain, its people. its landscape and life in Madrid. The sights, sounds, and drama of Spanish culture — bullfights, flamenco, and the most festive celebrations such as the traditional ferias of Seville and fallas of Valencia, were burned forever in my imagination, defining my own aesthetic.
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