Memories are finicky. They don’t linger much.
I can’t remember moments of my past with enough details, enough to relive the favourites. I forgot what the day was like when Min’an and I hugged for the first time. I can’t tell you what I wore when I first landed in Stockholm. And I can’t fully recall all the emotions I experienced when I got my visa to Australia after its embassy was bombed in Jakarta. Probably some relief, but did I feel excited or scared? I’m absolutely guessing at this point.
It makes me frustrated that events in my life unfolded in front of me, yet I forget them as soon as I go to sleep.
Unless I do it twice.
It’s such a handy rule to live by.
If I like a restaurant, I’ll visit it twice. Once this week, and another next fortnight, when I can surprise myself with its familiarity.
If I practise a piano piece, I’ll do it twice a day. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon. For the first time, I’ll teach my muscle how to play. The second time, my muscle memory usually will take over.
When I haven’t gone swimming for a while, I’ll book two swimming sessions in one week. I know I will hate the first one, but I will like the second.
It is based on a well-documented bias called the mere-exposure effect. We like something because we’re familiar with them. This is how advertising hijacks our brains.
Do it twice.
Repetition cement short-lived impressions into happy permanent memories. On the contrary, doing anything once is a recipe for displeasure.