A week ago, my company moved to a new location, about a mile and a half from the old location, but far removed from the enormous infrastructural upset about to be occasioned by a massive freeway project. To give you an example of the impacts of said project:  In March, the state agency put up signs announcing that starting in May, San Fernando Boulevard would be permanently closed. What was our address? 2319 N. San Fernando Boulevard.

Given that we were moving, I decided to make some improvements in my own office, things that would help me keep my desk from looking like a landing strip for paper debris, and that would help me streamline my day so that I can do more writing. (That is, when I’m not on the phone. A few years ago when someone asked my wife what I do for a living, she said, “He talks to people all day and they give him money.”) If you’re going to move, you might as well move everything into a better position at the same time. So:  we’ve moved the file drawers of my plays and essays and short stories and correspondence and other miscellany that isn’t readily needed into an alcove outside my office, and we’ve freed up more room within arm’s reach for things I use regularly. The interior designers have come in several times and made small adjustments and it’s gotten better and better. As of today, I can shred documents, print papers, use my laptop, and otherwise lay hands on all the necessary equipment of my daily endeavors with a mere swivel of my seat. The ergonomic accomplishment of this reassures me that, yes, we will be able to put people on Pluto quite comfortably and soon.

But here’s what hasn’t kept up:  my brain. So far, my muscle memory is outlifting all of that spatial engineering.

Every time I go to get my car keys, I reflexively reach over to the left — where they are no longer kept. The printer is no longer behind me, but that’s where I’m always reaching. The used paper I flip over and feed into said printer, to save both money and the environment? No, it isn’t in a drawer beneath the printer now, it’s in a drawer to the left of that. And on and on. I almost feel like I’m performing that exercise Andre Gregory recommends in My Dinner With Andre, where you use your non-dominant hand all day and thus reawaken yourself to experience — but go psychotic at the same time, because everything is complicated by sudden awareness.

What I’ve become newly aware of is just how strong muscle memory is — how quickly the brain develops shortcuts that speed up our processes but diminish our sensitivity to experience, and how loath it is to give them up. Sure, I could put everything back where it used to be, but where’s the progress in that?  As a thinking person, as someone who believes in mind over muscle, I refuse to give in. Which just leaves me wondering:  Although we know it becomes harder to remember things as we age, just how long does it take for your muscles to forget?

This entry was posted on Monday, May 5th, 2014 at 8:24 pm and is filed under Thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.