All in the mind
A drawing of a washing machine full of red apples
Growing up I knew the phone numbers of all my family and friends by heart. And I, same as the rest of us, learned to speed read the street directory and mark each page in order for my route.
But these days Google has replaced the need to remember, and we’ve all got lazy. No need to memorise Amir’s phone number, I can just look him up in my contacts. Or just tell Siri to ‘call Amir’.
We humans take refuge in our commonalities, namely excellence at forgetting. We don’t expect others to remember our name, because we don’t either, especially when we meet people out of context. But let’s face it, it’s always lovely when someone calls you by name (apart from politicians who overuse journo’s names to seem matey/personable/warm).
Enter Nelson Dellis, five times US Memory Champion (yes, it’s really a thing), putting himself out there in pursuit of the ultimate goal – to teach the world how to remember.
He’s a mountaineer and memory athlete. How about learning all the world cup winners since its inception, or the top ten highest mountain peaks in the world for gaining great kudos with friends and family. And be super popular for trivia team selection.
I delve into his helpfully named book; Remember It. Nelson’s See-Link-Go journey method is your go-to for memorising large amounts of information forever. Instead of repeating things over and over, mantra-like, I must see something that automatically links to the name in my mind, and then go on to the next one. The crazier and more graphic the image – engaging as many senses as possible (unusual sounds, pungent smells, wildly weird sights) – the better.
I try using Nelson’s example linking methods for US presidents. Picturing a sloshy washing machine (George Washington) full of red apples noisily bouncing around (Adams) being chopped and mashed by a chef (Jefferson), and we’re up to the first three already!
Time to stretch my legs with my shopping list. Mental journeying through my house (down the hall into a tangy citrusy ocean of lemons, right into the den to struggle through a warm golden field of wheat, across to the bedroom growing spiky tall sugar cane, into the bathroom bursting with lavender smelling soap suds, back out to the stairwell draped with monkeys eating bunches of bananas). At the supermarket I’m pleased to have recalled everything (lemons, flour, sugar, soap, bananas), but hit a roadblock when I realise I’ve memorised the list out of order. Lemons are first but bananas are last, and they’re in the same spot. And why did I put soap in the middle when it’s the farthest away? I stagger out with all my items in the end, but it was a struggle, and I forgot my bags which didn’t help.
Nelson’s Journey/ten highest mountain peaks method is a similar method, but in pairs, so you’re only going to five locations. This was much more effective for my brain. Within minutes I’m charging off around his fictitious backyard, from sun loungers to firepit, pool to jacuzzi and finally the pool bar (great place!) Aside from the highest two peaks, with easy names we’ve all heard of (Everest and K2), the others are much trickier. Kangchenjunga, Lhotse, Dhaulagiri… how to remember these? I channel Nelson’s technique. Kangchenjunga becomes an image of Jackie Chan struggling to play Jenga. After twenty minutes I’ve learned all ten peaks. Hurrah!
But when smugly reciting them to my glazed eyed family, I hit another hurdle. When I get to Kangchenjunga, Jackie Chan flying through the air and smashing through a Jenga tower comes freely. But my brain turns this into Kan-Chan-Jenga. Might be enough to score half a point at trivia but it’s still not right.
I decide to tackle names. The idea is to latch onto some specific feature of the person that can’t change – a scar, a bald head– and create a narrative. (The new neighbour is in front of me in the checkout queue, she’s got long blond hair, I see her hair trailing out from a police cap, the Police – Roxanne!!) Don’t worry if it seems convoluted, your brain stands to attention right away at the first sight of the hair and lands straight on the right name.
I flex my new skills with the manager at Gallery Lane Cove, remembering he’s got a Spanish name, and picture him playing the castanets and wearing a flamenco dress.
‘Diego! Lovely to see you again.’
He looked slightly puzzled, and I later learned his name is in fact Miguel.
Maybe it’s better to remain forgetful – ignorance is bliss after all. I still don’t know my daughter’s phone number, but I can recite all forty-six presidents of the US and the first ten kings of England to anyone who asks. So that’s something.