My brain is overflowing with words. If you’re in peak college-parent season, I’ll bet you’d ace this vocabulary exam. Early action. Early decision. Common App. FAFSA. Demonstrated interest. Enrollment deposits. Housing portals. Orientation sign-ups.
So many words to go along with the timelines, the obligations, the emotional whiplash of thisstage of life that I think I’m losing more than just words. I might be losing my mind. The other day when I arrived at the parking lot at work, I tried to open the gate with my garage door remote. It took me a good minute, and at least one car honking behind me, to realize why it hadn’t worked.
A number of oft-used words have been lost
I applauded myself for at least remembering the word “remote.” Because a number of seemingly normal, oft-used words have been lost. That furry-costumed creature at a college sporting event is a mascot.
That pharmacy item is contact lens solution (not “sauce”). That crunchy salad topping is a crouton. These are among the words my friends and I have struggled to retrieve in recent months, only to find again with relief and worry. Is our forgetfulness a sign of early-onset dementia?
We are storing so much information now that something’s got to give
Undiagnosed ADHD? Are we losing our minds? We have so much to store in there right now. Campus tours and net price calculators. Deadlines and passwords and portals that all require different combinations of uppercase letters, symbols, and our will to live.
Logically, something has to give, and it cannot be the twin XL sheets and overpriced mattress pad. But what stays and what goes feels completely random.
Why is it I can remember inconsequential things from years past, but can’t recall the name of someone I met five minutes ago? I can still recite the lunch order I’d fetch from Au Bon Pain for my boss circa 1995 (tuna salad on Italian, Sun Chips, and an Orangina), yet I have no idea why I walked into this room.
And I’m not alone. Middle-aged women cite menopause (peri, post, and perpetual) as a reason for our temporary brain fog. I say temporary because we inevitably wake up, fully alert in a hot sweat at 3:00 am, announcing “Crouton! There it is.”
We’re sandwiched between caring for our parents and our children
We’re sandwiched between caring for our parents, many with age-related dementia, and our children, leaving or returning or soiling the nest with their laundry and exasperation at our inability to recall their names. Even though it’s on the tip of our tongue. Even though we know we should know their name, we named them after all, after growing and then forcefully ejecting them from our bodies. Angry and embarrassed, we sputter “Maddy!” even though that’s the name of our dog who died. Two years ago.
The in-between is a blur. Why do entire decades disappear – our children grow and depart at the speed of light – but I can’t forget that time I offered a highlighter from my backpack to a hot college classmate, only to realize I had handed over a tampon instead? I’d like to erase that memory to make room for something more immediately relevant, like that type of paper that’s thicker than regular paper. Cardboard. That’s it.
We go about our days, working and caring, filling out forms and making appointments, fretting about the impact of AI on our children’s future careers and trying to impress upon them the outdated-but-still-important act of sending a thank you note.
Yes, we lose words, but we’re navigating this together, finding ourselves, leaning on our friends
It’s no wonder, with all that busyness in our brains, that some salad toppings fall out. Croutons aren’t even healthy. We should be adding pumpkin seeds instead for their magnesium and fiber and all that other good stuff we need.
At least we can laugh about it. Yes, we lose words, but we’re navigating this fog together, finding ourselves, leaning on our friends. The friend who needed to be reminded of “mascot”
was happy to help me retrieve “crouton.”
She’s a kind and forgiving one, my friend. Whats-Her-Name. You know, the one who lives down the street. With the brown hair.
Oh my god, Denise! It’s Denise.
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