Happiness is good health and a bad memory.” –Ingrid Bergman

I have a good memory for dates. Whether this was a byproduct of studying History, or whether this aptitude predated (pun intended) my choice of a major, I can’t say. From births, deaths and anniversaries, to the date I started my first period, I have a memory bank of dates–both important and trivial–close at hand. I recall the birthdates of people I worked with 15 years ago, and of childhood acquaintances I haven’t spoken to or seen in years.

Truthfully, there isn’t much to be gained from this particular skill. There are times that it comes in handy, but for the most part, it’s more like a party trick than anything else. There is also a significant downside: Dates with a negative association are burned into my memory pretty much forever. Unfortunately, this can have an impact on my psyche when the anniversary of a sad date is looming. The more significant the event–and the more recent–the more powerful the impact.

Interestingly, I can never predict with any real degree of accuracy how I’ll feel about a given date. I might be braced for the worst and the day passes without fanfare. On the other hand, I might be feeling very good leading up to the date, lulling myself into thinking that I’m in the clear, only to feel like I’ve been hit by a truck on the actual day. Then there is the more sinister variation in which I feel okay leading up to the anniversary, and even feel okay on the day of, but find myself brooding afterwards.

Brooding is the key word. I’m not typically leveled by these negative anniversaries; I don’t cry or spend the day in bed. I just find myself reliving–often in vivid detail–what I was doing at this time one month ago, one year ago, or five years ago…or longer. I’ll admit that this quality has strains of OCD mingled in. I’m not just reconstructing the events, I’m thrown back to whatever emotions I experienced at the time.

Eventually, with the passage of time–sometimes hours, sometimes days, maybe even up to a week or so–the feelings fade. Life moves on. It slips into the background; not forgotten, but not part of my daily emotional landscape. Normalcy is restored.

I honestly wish I could turn off this part of my brain. I wish that I could “forget” a date. I wish I could wake up, months later, and be pleasantly surprised that it came and went without a thought, much less days of brooding. I can’t force myself to forget what I know, but I can take an honest look at why I’m not letting go; because that’s what this is really about: Letting Go.

I think it’s a way of maintaining control. By recalling the details of something I ensure that the event–and whatever lessons or outcomes I took away–are not forgotten. When I connect with a painful event, I can fool myself (at least temporarily) into thinking that I won’t be blindsided again because I’m still alert, still on top of things. The problem is that it comes at a high price. I might be keeping the memories and lessons “fresh” by using this anniversary-date technique, but I’m also undermining my happiness in the present moment.

I thought of a metaphor that brought this into sharp relief for me. Ideas, thoughts, dates, events–I can treat them like kites or like balloons. Initially, I think all significant events are held close. They are raw, fresh, still being made sense of or evaluated. But eventually, with time, we create space between ourselves and the events that happen to us.

A kite is picked up by the wind and floats and sails at a distance, dipping up and down. But it’s tethered to the ground. It can always be reigned back in, looked at, examined for signs of weather or erosion, and sent back out. Sometimes, kites–like memories–can get derailed. Stuck in a tree or on a power line (kind of like becoming preoccupied with an event of the past). But a kite is still ultimately under your control. You decide how much slack to let out, how far to let it glide and soar in the wind, and for how long.

A balloon is different. It’s on a much shorter string, but once you let it go, it’s gone. Balloons don’t dip and dive, they only go up. They are completely outside of your control or influence. You might jump and try to catch the string, but it’s quickly swept up in the wind and you watch it climb higher and farther away until it’s a tiny speck in the sky. You never get the chance to know where your balloon landed or what became of it. It’s simply gone.

Some memories should be kept on a string, like a kite. Maybe you want to relive your wedding day, or the birth of your children, or a significant milestone. But positive memories don’t bring about brooding, they don’t linger. You recall, have your moment of nostalgia, and send that kite back out to fly.

I think painful memories are better off as balloons. Yes, you have to learn from an event of the past and you might have to hold on for a while before you’re ready to let go. But eventually, it’s just cumbersome and hard to keep track of. It’s not adding any value; after all, you’ve already taken from it what you can. There is nothing new to be explored, no new information that will come to light. It’s ready to be carried off with the winds, never again to be relived or re-examined.

The fear, of course, is that if you let go of your ability to revisit an event of the past by allowing it to drift away, that you will forget what you learned from it; that it will be deleted from memory altogether. It’s a little unsettling to think that you will no longer recall an event in vivid detail, or remind yourself of how far you’ve come, or clobber yourself (or someone else) with the impact of a poor decision or a road not taken.

In reality, though, we don’t need to relive events to keep the lessons close. And to the extent we use the past as leverage against ourselves or others, it becomes destructive to the present, not just an idle memory.

I have too many kites in my memory bank and not enough balloons. I may not be able to forget dates, but I can choose how much time I spend thinking about them, anticipating them and reliving the events associated with them.

Some memories don’t improve upon closer or more frequent inspection. In fact, most memories are better–and safer–when seen from afar.