Core Memories

Disney Pixar’s Inside Out is beloved by movie fans of all ages. Its unique portrayal of emotions as main characters had audiences feeling all the feels as they were taken on an epic hero’s journey with Joy and Sadness as the unlikely dream team of heroines. The personification of Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust was both amusing and, in a way, comforting. To envision emotions as colorful animated characters sitting at control panels in our brains, makes the whirlwind tour of emotional highs and lows that is the human experience a little less chaotic and scary. What’s more, the movie is responsible for coining the now popular phrase “core memory.”

I did a quick Google search just to make sure I was correct about that last little trivia fun fact, and apparently the phrase does have roots in the tech world, referring to super old-school computers that used magnetic cores to store data. However, Inside Out was where most of us heard it first and in the way it’s most commonly used today. I, myself, have used it dozens of times. Like the time I was riding a carousel that was moving at breakneck speed with my daughter and husband in downtown Falmouth, while the carousel played “Let It Go” and we all belted it out at the top of our lungs for fear if we stopped singing we may barf up our dinner. I remember thinking to myself, “Whew, well that was a core memory. That baby ain’t going nowhere.”

Now if you’ve read this far, bless your heart, you might be thinking that this post lacks my typical timely relevance or thoughtful self-reflection or vulnerable share. So far all it’s been about is a movie that came out in 2015 and a freakishly fast merry-go-round.

Anyway, there is a reason why I’ve been thinking about core memories lately. Partially it’s because I have (slowly) aging parents (who read this newsletter -👋 hi Mom & Dad, love you guys!) and it’s just hard NOT to think about how the brains change with age. We have candid conversations about things like frequently misplacing items around the house and repeating stories, and what those things might mean or not mean. I don’t think these conversations are unusual for parents and children of a certain age, but I’ve always secretly geeked out over neuroscience and psychology, so of course I wanted to dig deeper. And since a wise therapist once helped me realize that there is a fine line between “obsessing” over something and “learning” about it - I decided to read a book! So I picked up a copy of Remember: The Science of Memory and the Art of Forgetting by Lisa Genova. After reading the first couple of chapters, my mind immediately made a connection to the concept of core memories in the movie Inside Out, which then fueled an idea for a blog post and here we are.

In the first chapter, Genova states that, “making a memory literally changes your brain. Every memory you have is a result of a lasting physical alteration in your brain in response to what you experienced. You went from not knowing something to knowing something, from never before having experienced today to having lived another day. And to be able to remember tomorrow what happened today means that your brain has to change” (14). After reading that, I thought about how Inside Out (and its sequel Inside Out 2) touch upon the idea that core memories shape our personalities and our sense of self. I then thought about how so many of us have started using the phrase “core memory” to express a very distinct feeling we get when we believe that what we just experienced has changed us forever. I thought about how profound it is to watch my daughter experience moments that I believe may become “core memory” material for her - like the first time she rode a rollercoaster or watched fireworks on the beach in Maine with her cousins.

For me, some of the most significant memories are the moments when I felt a shift in my perspective or when I realized I had learned something about myself. I remember vividly my first few experiences with community theater - the comfort of camaraderie, shared inside jokes, the collective nerves that surged through the whole cast like an electric charge on opening night, and the way it felt to hear a crowd laugh at a line I delivered just right or a facial expression to perfectly match that line. In those moments, I realized how much I valued being part of a group of like-minded individuals. The bond we shared, built through rehearsals and late-night conversations, taught me the importance of collaboration and community. It was in these moments that I found my confidence, both as a performer and as a person. The laughter from the audience, the applause that followed, made me realize that I loved to entertain. I found joy in connecting with others in such an immediate, impactful way—and that connection, that shared experience, shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time but would carry with me forever.

What I’m most appreciating about this book is the way Genova breaks down complex concepts about memory formation, recall, and loss in a way that’s super accessible. For example, she explains that “the number on reason for forgetting what you just said, a person’s name, where you put your phone … is lack of attention. You can’t later remember what is right in front of you if you don’t pay attention to it. You can’t form a memory.” And, “later when you’re frustrated, unable to [remember] you’re not experiencing true memory failure. You haven’t forgotten anything, because the memory was never formed” (29). So when my parents are each lamenting to me about how one keeps losing their reading glasses all over the house and the other can’t remember what to pick up on those quick mid-week grocery store runs sans list…I remind them that they have to pay attention. These are not signs of dementia, but more than likely signs of being unfocused when it comes to things they feel they shouldn’t have to focus on.

The bigger takeaway is this. My parents’ core memories are still very much intact. We love to reminisce about our favorite Cape Cod trips, big family parties, Red Sox games at Fenway, and my brother and I performing in the local children’s theater production of James and Giant Peach when we were in elementary school. They were paying attention. Much how I am doing my very best to pay attention now, filling my senses with every glorious detail that is being a parent.

So the next time you find yourself at a concert at Red Rocks or watching your kid play their favorite sport, and you think to yourself that later on that evening you’ll be posting a picture or a Reel and titling it “core memory”, make sure to also PAY ATTENTION. Make the memory. Be forever changed. That’s what life is all about.

XOXO,

A