Mostly Harmless

I always found it strange: when I encounter someone I previously met, I almost always remember the person; but very rarely does the other person remember me. I'm not talking about an old friend, of course. I'm talking about someone to whom I was introduced once, or maybe someone who was a casual acquaintance.

I used to think it was because I had a better memory than most people: they might have trouble remembering me, but I have no trouble remembering them!

Then I thought it was because people are very important to me, so I naturally remember meeting them.

But in the last couple years, the more plausible explanation occurred: perhaps it's because I'm singularly unremarkable.

As I've thought it over, I've come to the rather unfortunate conclusion that it is the most obvious and most plausible answer. Of course, this is a case where the most likely explanation is also the most ominous.

I guess the hard part of realizing I am unremarkable is, it strikes the ego a real death blow. I assume I'm like most people in liking to think of myself as somewhat special: perhaps even somewhat unique. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it's probably not true.

Well, one way or another, I suppose I've gotten to the bottom of it.