The grass in the backyard was starting to turn brown. The New Hampshire summer day was humid and the season was starting to take a toll on the grass. As my mother and uncle looked on from the shade of the screen porch, my sister, cousin, and I dug our toes into the dry grass and ran towards the pool sitting diagonally from the porch. Brenna and Scott made it, I did not.

Back in those days we had one of those pools where you inflate the top ring and the rest of the pool elevates as you fill it with water.

As Brenna and Scott jumped over the air-filled edge into the cool water, I subsequently hit the edge and face planted into the pool in a seemingly painful and notably awkward fashion.

This is what they tell me, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember.

Today I was reunited with my cousin Scott for the first time in 10 years. He told me the story about my fateful face-plant into the pool and my uncle confirmed it. Seeing my cousin and family in Santa Barbara is fulfilling and warms my heart but it also makes me question my memory.

Earlier in the week I was listening to a TED Radio Hour podcast about memory. One part of the episode discussed how all memories are reconstructed from post-experience information. The host also discussed how good things can modify moments in the past, as well as how the endings of experiences can significantly impact how we remember experiences.

I remember the day I fell in the pool, we ate lobster and the smell made me sick, and I was happy I got to see my cousin. But, point taken: I probably chose to forget about falling in the pool.

In all seriousness though, the segment provoked me to think about my own memory. I’m a journalist I have a good memory, even if I write it all down, right? In the past people have been weirded out by me because I remember something they told me years before. But it happened again.

As I drove into Santa Barbara yesterday I stopped paying attention to my directions. I thought, “Surely, I remember the area enough to find the house.” Yeah Danielle, surely you remember turns and road names from when you were in third grade and didn’t drive.

I needed my directions.

But I also was surprised how my memory mapped on to reality. Granted things change over time, but I remembered a different colored house, a smaller kitchen and a bedroom in the opposite direction. I remember the beach being further away and I didn’t remember the mountains (how did I not remember the mountains?). My cousin and I both remembered last time we were together singing Don McLean’s “American Pie” and Nine Days “Absolutely (Story of a Girl).” The latter almost word-for-word.

What my elementary school self thought was interesting, is, well, interesting.

The details become a narrative I tell myself about people and places. My California story held up pretty well, but it certainly needed some updating.

Remembering and forgetting got me thinking about how much control we have over our own perceptions of reality. In a way, it reinforces the idea of positive thinking, which I was already sold on anyhow. Even if I slept in my car during a torrential thunderstorm for the fifth night, I can choose between remembering how I couldn’t straighten my legs in the morning or I can focus on the relaxing sound of rain on the metal roof of the car.

Another example, the day after listening to the aforementioned TED talk I hiked my first 14,000 footer. It was painfully hard. I got elevation sickness, felt like I might puke, and had a headache worse than the ones brought on by a past concussion. But, holy crap, this hike was beautiful. The air was still and quiet, the sun warm, and everywhere I turned were more snowy peaks melting into the horizon. But ouch my head hurt. Skipping the discussion of how I made it to the top using a lot of self-talk and some singing, I stood at 14,060 feet overwhelmed by what I was seeing and feeling. I was truly happy. I still had to make my way down though, with the TED talk in mind I tried to make going down the most fun experience I could have had. If the end of my experience had a significant impact on my memory of it, I wanted to remember this day as good. On the way down, I sang, dreamt about skiing, I chatted with myself, with the birds and a few people I met along the way. Only time will tell how I remember it all, but so far so good.

Our perspective determines how we look back on the life we tell ourselves we had. Ten years ago, I chose to remember hanging out with my cousin instead of falling on my face. Potentially less emotionally painful, but also a point for positivity.