Jack Gould: Untitled
(boys and girls learning ballroom dancing) (c. 1950)

" … Lifelong Rediscovery of what I'd apparently already learned before."

I understand that I am expected to be a LifelongLearner, even though I was always a hesitant one. From my earliest days, I recall fearing the acquisition of additional information, as if it might harm me, and I can see how this innate sense might have been evolutionarily advantageous. I don't so much despise knowing; it's the acquisition that I question, for it seems like I have one of those tile puzzles in my head, and I must fiddle with it to make space for any incoming information that anybody might expect me to retain. It’s not the exposure to new concepts that I question, but the absorption of them. I have always felt like a saturated sponge.

The start of a semester in school was always terrifying, for the expectation usually seemed to be that I should already know the inevitably new material I was going to be exposed to. I found the strange subjects and even stranger books off-putting. I understand and accept that some of my fellow students relished such challenges. I would fall into a funk as if sentenced to another term at the hardest labor, as if enrolled in the Devil's Island School. My teachers were my jailers and occasional tormentors.

The process by which I assimilate fresh information remains just as opaque as it ever was. I, like anybody, am exposed to a near-constant stream of incoming, and I remain powerless to deflect very much of it. It slips past my meager defenses too easily. It rattles around in my head, or wherever renegade information rattles around in there, before evaporating or choosing to settle somewhere. Who could know where such stuff settles, for it arrives in unmanageable volumes and keeps coming regardless of what happens next? I deflect my share, but still, much of it probably takes up residence somewhere. I wonder where.

The resulting mess might be labeled my Body of Knowledge, except it's poorly indexed, apparently randomly related to prior accumulations. My brain seems much more poorly organized than the Library of Congress. It lacks a master index within which all my so-called knowledge can be related. I retain apples adjacent to oranges, and oranges right next to what little I remember about orangutans. I spout nearly haphazard bursts, regurgitating similarly to how I absorb. The result seems like so much chaos and utterly unrelated to knowledge. When I take a test, my responses flow out similarly to how they entered. Needless to say, I test poorly.

When called upon to recall something I might be reasonably expected to know, I shudder. This weekend, I began stripping porch trim, prepping it for repainting. I've done this sort of thing many times before, but for the life of me, I couldn't quite remember how to get started. I'd have thought I might have been an expert by now, with as much practice as I've had. But I procrastinated before setting to work, needing to adjust my approach as picky details came back into focus. I discovered what I must have known before. Once started, a muscle memory seemed to guide me. I experienced how I remember, which might be better labeled something like forgetting. I rediscover more than I ever recall, and this may be what's meant when ‘they’ refer to LifelongLearning.' Initially, it might be about absorbing what one never knew. Later, it might be better labeled Lifelong Rediscovery of what I'd apparently already learned before.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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