It's midterm season at U-Dub and in my world, it's obvious who's schooling who. Every semester I commit to mastering courses weeks in advance. Instead, I predictably retreat into Memorial Library days before tests, panic-stricken and staring at equations as though they're written in Klingon. Dazed, I begin calculating hours according to military time like some shell-shocked soldier who's done one-too-many tours in the stacks. \It's only 23:27, and the test isn't until 08:00!"" I'll exclaim, my new facial twitch growing more noticeable.
But it's not poor study habits that cause me grief: it's my memory. I'm 22 years old and having those ""senior moments"" most enjoy while collecting Social Security. Once, I found myself bewildered in the kitchen, clutching a cup of yogurt and a pillow, with no idea why I was there or what I was doing. I wasn't even surprised to later discover the pillow by the sink and the yogurt in my bed.
I also can't explain why I know Kobe Bryant attended high school at Lower Merion in Philly, but can't remember, despite years of quality education, how many feet are in a mile (I'm guessing six million). My brain waste extends beyond sports trivia; I'm worried jingle lyrics from my youth will forever haunt me. Someday I'll be at the altar and instead of exchanging wedding vows, I will announce, ""The best part of waking up..."" to which my bride, because she is my soulmate, will respond, ""...is Folgers in your cup!""
Many people claim to be horrible at remembering names; my memory assassinates conversations before they begin. Concentrated brainwaves emitted from my head induce amnesia in others, rendering them incapable of introducing themselves when we meet at parties. They'll simply stand there, wearing blank expressions with their hand out-stretched, having completely failed my remedial, psychometric pop-quiz.
I need a doctor for my crippled consciousness, and I found one in assistant professor of psychology and cognition expert Brad Postle. To be honest, I was apprehensive to seek his advice; I don't engage in dialogues regarding metaphysical topics during business school courses. Like a biomedical engineer performing bank reconciliations, I was outside my element, though professor Postle provided many valuable insights.
""We think of memory as a way the brain simulates what it was doing when the original event was experienced,"" Postle explained. ""As far as we know, there is no limit to the stuff the human brain could store... [for example], Albert Einstein never woke up and said, 'There is no more room'.""
The problem, according to Postle, is not one of capacity, but rather of mental interference. To recall stored information, Postle suggests recreating the environments of those occurrences we wish to remember. For example, if I want to succeed on upcoming exams by replicating my study surroundings, I should drop half-consumed cans of Diet Coke on the lecture hall floor and not shave or wash my hair for several days. The proctor will smell me coming!
Ironically, Postle recommended I simply space out studying to prepare for midterms.
""We know, neurobiologically as well as psychologically, that cramming is just the worst way to learn,"" Postle said.
I was slightly disappointed not to learn any test-conquering strategies. As a result, I'll camp out in the stacks and suffer like everyone else. If you come across my makeshift tent, please bring bagels; knowing me, I'll forget my rations.
