Hit the Delete Button on Embarrassing Memories

I would love to be able to delete files in my head the way I do on my computer. With my computer, if there is a file I don’t need anymore, I just right-click it, select “delete,” and it’s gone. 

There are a lot of old, embarrassing memories stored in my head, and whenever one of them bubbles to the surface, it can be uncomfortable. I did a lot of stupid and immature things back in the day (if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk in generalities here), and whenever the memory of one of those incidents suddenly barges into my consciousness, it bothers me. I suspect the statute of limitations has expired for certain obnoxious comments made during the 6th grade. After all, that was 53 years ago. I’m pretty sure the people to whom I directed those comments forgot all about it, probably by 5th period math class, so why can’t I?

Now, I’m not saying I want to delete the memory of stupid and immature stuff I’ve done recently. I’ve been around long enough to realize that feeling guilty and embarrassed about making a mistake reduces the chances that I’ll make that same mistake again. That’s a good thing. Can you imagine if someone never felt guilt or embarrassment about saying or doing foolish things? That person would be a menace to society. Or a politician. But I repeat myself.

However, feeling chagrin about foolish behavior that occurred in the 6th grade is not helping me make good decisions nowadays. It just interjects some unnecessary regret into what should’ve been a pleasant day. (I wish the only embarrassing memories were from 6th grade, but a lot of cringe-worthy stuff happened in high school, too. And college. Especially college. Oh, and during my first job. And now that I think about it, my second job, too. Also, the first time I ever flew to Chicago and rented a car. Sheesh, that was a fiasco. Wait a minute, I said I was not going to get specific here.)

Recently, I heard a comedian explain that his father is Irish and his mother is Jewish, so that means he is both passive AND aggressive. Plus, he says he’s inherited a jumbo portion of guilt. I can’t speak for our Jewish friends, but my Irish-Catholic heritage definitely knows how to push the ol’ guilt buttons — to the point that if any of us did not feel guilt, we were made to feel guilty about THAT. 

If the old memories that I’d like to delete from my brain were bothering me all the time, then I’d have to check to see if my health insurance pays for me to have some counseling sessions with a sympathetic bartender. No wait, talking to bartenders was the first step in many of those bad memories. Since it only happens once in a while, the only therapy I need is to whine about it in this newspaper column. (I’m pretty sure once this gets published, I’m going to shake my head and mutter, “That’s embarrassing. What was I thinking?”)

 

When I thought of the computer file analogy, I asked the I.T. guy at work what happens to the files I delete. He said, “They go into the computer’s Recycle Bin, but you can restore them if you want. And even if you empty the Recycle Bin, a good computer technician can recover those files.”

Oh, so even the deleted files on my computer are never really gone. Great. My computer software must’ve been created by an Irish-Catholic guy who was bothered by old, embarrassing memories.

Well, it’s really not so bad. As long as I stay away from bartenders.