Is living in the moment overrated?
In his book Thinking Fast and Slow, Daniel Kahneman discusses the “two selves” that each of us possess. He names these the “experiencing self” and the “remembering self.” The experiencing self is the you that exists in the here and now—the self that is actually “in the moment.” The remembering self is the you that recalls previous moments, revisiting (and possibly reinterpreting) those events at a later time.
Kahneman describes the never-ending battle between experience and memory, and how our definition of happiness can depend on which self we emphasize. There is, he argues, a real difference between being happy in your life and being happy about your life. The first option emphasizes experiences in the present, while the second relies on recollections of the past. Many wisdom traditions seem to primarily promote the first option, encouraging us to “be present” and live in the here and now, and I don’t dispute that there is value in such counsel. But we’re all aware of how difficult it is to follow that advice; very few people seem to succeed in doing so, myself included. Why is this? It is simply yet another flaw in our species—a part of the “human condition” that frequently renders us unable to recognize what is truly good for us? Or is it possible that the challenge of staying in the now—that is, channeling the experiencing self—isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?
As Kahneman points out, the remembering self is a storyteller: it takes previous moments and assigns them a significance, often tying them in to a larger narrative framework. And as author Jonathan Gottschall argues (in his book bearing this name), humans are “The Storytelling Animal.” There is an inherent tendency in our species to assign meaning to events and create some sort of order in our world and our lives. Given that this behavior is innate to all human beings, might we consider that having good stories is in some ways better for us than having good experiences?
After all, a moment comes and goes in a flash—it cannot be savored for long. But a good memory can be revisited over and over again, evoking its emotional affect each time. A memory can even be gilded or embellished to make it better. (Consider how most of us have a personal story that we enjoy telling, and how over the years we’ve likely added or changed a detail here or there, so that after a while we’ve almost come to believe that those details were part of the original event!) And while we rarely have much control over what happens to us in the moment, we do have a great degree of power when it comes to remembering and interpreting each moment, deciding on its significance and meaning.
So is it possible that we are wired to favor the experiencing self—to seek good memories over good moments? To demonstrate the general dominance of our experiencing self, Kahneman suggests the following thought experiment, in which you contemplate your next big vacation. Imagine that it will be a fantastic holiday full of satisfying experiences, but at its conclusion, all pictures and videos will be destroyed, and furthermore, you will swallow a pill or potion that will wipe out all your memories of the trip. How would this prospect affect your vacation plans? Would it change how much time and money you’d be willing to sacrifice for such an experience? Kahneman notes that while he has not formally studied people’s reactions to this scenario, his impression from discussing it with others is that the elimination of memories does greatly reduce the value of the experience. And speaking for myself, I would agree.
By way of explanation, Kahneman offers this: “We actually don’t choose between experiences, we choose between memories of experiences. And even when we think about the future, we don’t think of our future as experiences, we think of our future as anticipated memories.” The implication is that—to a significant degree—we tend to seek experiences (such as vacations, weddings, etc.) in the service of our remembering self. Because while we may indeed want to have good moments, we’re typically more interested in having good memories of those good moments.
In contrast to Kahneman’s thought experiment, consider the Total Recall scenario. In this 1990 film (based on a story by Philip K. Dick), a construction worker named Quaid, dissatisfied with his life on Earth in the year 2084, decides to visit Rekall, a company that can implant very convincing false memories of the client’s choosing (as well as providing physical props such as pictures and souvenirs that will seemingly confirm those memories). Quaid decides to purchase memories in which he is a secret agent on Mars. But the attempt to implant those memories seems to trigger Quaid’s real (but suppressed) memories of a time when he truly was a secret agent on Mars. This launches Quaid on an adventure full of danger, romance, and ultimately triumph. Of course, one of the main themes of the movie is whether or not Quaid’s “remembering” of his exciting past was actually just a part of the Rekall memory implant, an added layer meant to make his story even more convincing.
Consider such a future in which realistic memories could be implanted into a person’s mind. This is truly the opposite scenario from Kahneman’s memory-wiped vacation. In this scenario, you never actually have the experiences that are being implanted, but you vividly remember having such experiences. So if you don’t have the time or money to summit Mount Everest, or frolic on the beaches of Tahiti, or ride a rocket to the moon—no problem! The memories are just an implant away! Is this not an appealing idea? Even if you know going in that you’re buying a lie, the temptation is still strong. Because while you’d never actually experience those days or weeks of adventure and pleasure, you’d carry memories of them for the rest of your life, and could revisit them at your leisure. In addition, those memories could very well have a lasting impact on who you are as a person. Consider who Quaid was before visiting Rekall—a rather boring, by-the-numbers kind of guy—versus who he becomes as a result of his dangerous adventures on Mars—a confident and self-assured man with a greater sense of agency.
This returns us to the disparity between how little control we have over our present moments versus the substantial power we exercise over the story we later tell about those moments. For instance, a terrible injury or a personal failure might take us by surprise when it happens and leave us feeling terrible in its wake, but if we find meaning in the experience or make it part of a personal narrative, it can ultimately allow us to reorient our lives in a better way, in which the awful moment doesn’t seem so awful because it led to transformation. In fact, this is often a major component of cognitive therapy, in which a patient is encouraged to reframe their view of a problem or challenge in order to craft a more positive story.
In the end, I’m not disparaging the experiencing self, or ignoring the insight and tranquility that can come with living in the moment. But I do think there is a popular mentality these days that focuses exclusively on concepts like mindfulness and on mantras such as “be here now,” and thereby ignores the importance of the remembering self and its role in generating the stories that are so crucial to humanity. I don’t think that humans have evolved to live exclusively in the present, and so as far as I’m concerned, cultivating good memories is at least as important as having good experiences.
Postscript:
I was somewhat relieved when, right as I was completing this post, I came across this sentiment while reading a book by Marina Benjamin: “I have long believed that mindfulness has its limitations. It overvalues the present moment and neglects the way the human mind wants to knit together past and future, lived experience and speculation, so creating conditions for narrative thinking or autobiographical orienteering. With its resolute and faithful focus on a single object of thought, or on doing away with thought altogether, mindfulness is about as edifying as praying to a toilet roll.” Well, it’s just good to know I’m not the only one who has doubts about our current cult of mindfulness!
