Many of my friends know I consciously live my life according to a value system – I choose pursuits that optimize two values, self-enrichment and achievement. I’ve picked these values based on what I’ve (perhaps subconsciously) noted about myself and my priorities over the past decade or so. Then I’ve built in rituals into my daily life that facilitate me fully pursuing these pursuits that optimize my values, including physical enrichment (working out in the morning, with lifting MWF and swimming TSa), intellectual enrichment (allocating half an hour to read for leisure every night), and even a set of times and places during the day when I work exclusively on startup or school. I adhere to rituals because once I get used to them, it takes little energy to “be disciplined” and follow them, and I spend less time wondering what I’m going to do next or how my rituals contribute to my grander value system.

I’ve been confident that this is the best way to live my life. When I say “best,” I mean according to this framework of optimizing for self-enrichment and achievement. But yesterday, while reading Joshua Foer’s Moonwalk with Einstein, I came across a passage that led me to reexamine my framework. The book documents Foer’s experience of training for the US Memory Championship, and the specific passage that provoked me describes Grand Master of Memory Ed Cooke seeking to make his life maximally memorable by packing his life with memories. Foer suggests that because we remember events relative in time to other events in our lives (e.g. I had my first kiss after that Flight Deck ride at Great America, after getting soaked on the Logger ride, etc.), we can make our lives more memorable just by increasing the number and novelty of experiences (e.g. the number and novelty of “afters” in the above sequence).

After I read this, the idea of maximum memorability began to resonate with me. One of Foer’s statements in particular articulates this seemingly strange resonance:

Like the proverbial tree that falls without anyone hearing it, can an experience that isn’t remembered be meaningfully said to have happened at all? Socrates thought the unexamined life was not worth living. How much more so the unremembered life?

Another explanation for my resonance with maximum memorability is its natural interpretation as maximizing psychological lifetime, or subjective experience of time, if we merely measure this “time” by number and novelty of experiences. I find subjective time a natural personal value to optimize. For one, I think this desire to maximize subjective lifetime could be the reason that I (and many humans in general) seek novelty and change in pursuits. This idea that humans measure subjective experience of time by novelty of life rather than by physical, objective time comes up everywhere. In Duane Michals’s Now Becoming Then, Michals tells stories of twisted relationships, mystical and religious occurrences, and even entirely different worlds (“Empty New York”) by capturing snapshots of “points of novelty” in each story’s trajectory – the points at which the story changes most significantly – rather than by taking snapshots at constant time intervals. Why are these points of novelty so much more interesting to us as chronological markers of subjective time than time itself? In finance, one problem that traders commonly encounter is how to index “time” in the market, given that incredible volatility and trade volume can be concentrated into such short times of day while the remainder of the day trudges slowly along. One approach to indexing time is by counting specific changes or events in the market, which suggests that change or novelty gauges the subjective time we’re interested in. In computer vision, a common approach to identifying objects in an image is to scan across the image and detect significant changes in pixel values, which correspond to one object disappearing and another beginning, suggesting that novelty is an index of objects’ very existence. All of these modes of thinking imply that we seek novelty because we seek to lengthen our psychological experiences of time, i.e. make our lives more memorable.

So I think it’s natural to value memorability; I certainly place some value on it. (I should be clear that I value memorability in the sense that I value the mere number and novelty of memories that I possess and thus am continually influenced by, however subconsciously, rather than some efficient system for fetching these memories by rearranging my neural connections or any other type of conscious recall.) And if I value memorability, I should incorporate it into my value framework, but how? I could add “memorability” as another value, but that seems unnatural because I don’t view it as a competing priority that I should optimize. Rather, I should use memorability as a metric and choose to measure how greatly an experience or activity achieves my two values of self-enrichment and achievement based on its memorability, i.e. its subjective impact on me, rather than based on any other criterion. For example, in my self-enrichment value, memorability is already naturally encoded, because by definition self-enrichment emphasizes pursuits that have self-impact. But as for my achievement value, until now I have had in the back of my mind some external metric for achievement (e.g. number of people impacted) that felt less genuine to me. What I really value in “achievement” is that subjectively experienced (“memorable”) magnitude of achievement. I can’t truthfully say that my 14-minute TEDx talk to 100 Gunn students was a more memorable, impactful achievement for me than 14 minutes of fixing certain bugs in my pathway identification algorithm in a cubicle, even though in many standard definitions of “achievement” the former would be greater than the latter. And because memorable achievement is genuinely what I value, that’s how I should evaluate how each of my actions optimizes achievement.

Thanks to Kanjun Qiu and Carl Gao for their thoughts on this.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s