My karate instructor talks about muscle memory. She urges us to pivot when we do a jab or a high punch, over-exaggerating our movements because she says that as we advance, our muscle memory kicks in and it becomes second nature to do the move correctly with the appropriate form.
I over pivot. I trust my muscle memory.
Apparently, my brain also has muscle memory, since it is loathe to break habits and patterns. Patterns including our actions and reactions around certain someones from days gone by, certain someones who – for a reason I can’t yet explain or even justify – still mean something to us when logically, they shouldn’t.
And it’s not that we forget what they did; we’re not forgetful, we’re forgiving. People always want to look back and remember the good times when what we really should be remembering is that he wooed us, dated us, dropped us, then re-wooed, re-(quasi)-dated, and dropped us all over again. I mean, if it happened once, shame on him…since it happened twice, shame on us. And three times? Even I, in the depths of despair and depression when I think that perhaps it’s “meant to be” after all (whatever that means) know better. I just need to REMEMBER that I know better – that’s the struggle.
I need a forgetful muscle memory.