Memory Deletion Services, Inc.: Meditations on Erasing Ourselves.

From social media to dystopian dream extractions, how much of our past are we willing to delete for the sake of optimization?

When did taking a photo for your memories become commerce? When did the selfie button sneak onto apps and iPhone cameras, like some uninvited guest at a party who changes the song mid-track?

This thought hit me the other day while I was on what I like to call a "distracted meditation walk" along a quiet beach in southern Thailand. The sand was soft, the waves rolled in with that rhythmic hush, the sun was just beginning its slow climb past the horizon—and instead of just being in that moment, breathing in the serenity, I found myself thinking about feet. Specifically, my own.

I had been filming some footage for a little project, capturing the waves washing over my feet. But when I watched it back, my focus wasn't on the beauty of the ocean or if the shot worked as a transition. No, I was scrutinizing my feet like some kind of overly critical podiatrist. Flat, wide, slightly sunburnt—feet that have definitely seen some miles. And then, as if to hammer home the absurdity of my self-critique, I noticed a girl further down the beach.

She was deep in the throes of The Perfect Selfie Video Ritual. It was 6:36 AM, the golden hour of influencers and early risers alike. She had set up her camera phone, framed the shot just so, and then—Run. Jump. Smile. Watch. No good. Run. Jump. Smile. Watch. No good. Run. Jump. Smile. Watch. No good.

I watched as she repeated the process, her own version of cinematic Groundhog Day, striving for some elusive perfection that only she knew. And suddenly, I saw myself reflected back in her. Not in the jumping and smiling (I am neither coordinated nor awake enough for such feats at dawn), but in the critique, the judgment, the endless takes.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped just existing in moments and started producing them. Editing them. Curating them for consumption, whether by others or, perhaps more dangerously, by ourselves. “Searching for the perfect backdrop”, as Jim says.

And honestly? It made me laugh. Because here I was, scoffing at her quest for the perfect take while simultaneously lamenting my own aesthetically questionable feet.

I may even have a bit of a foot thing. I hate them.

If you asked certain ex-girlfriends, they might tell you they’ve never actually seen me fully naked—I may or may not have kept my socks on.

However, there was a moment in the '90s, under the influence of some particularly strong ecstasy, where I found myself giving a foot massage I’d rather not recall in great detail.

Anyways, 2010. iPhone 4. That’s when the selfie button appeared on most phones and cameras. A real game changer, eliminating that awkward moment when you tried to take a picture with that guy from that one 1980s movie at the county fair, hoping you got both of you in the frame without your arm dominating half the shot.

https://9to5mac.com/2021/07/01/iphone-4-selfie-

Realizing how much we rely on our phones is what pushed me to get my Sony FX30. I wanted to go out into the world with the intention of capturing images and shooting video. I’ve been working on a short film project, and that was another reason. Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate my phone. It’s FKN amazing that I can have the entire uploaded digital music library at my fingertips, especially after selling my entire record collection. That one still stings, but at least it went to an awesome dude who’ll actually appreciate them. And, of course, the phone is a portal to all the information I could ever need. For instance, after a brief Google-induced panic, I can confidently report that I do not have gout. Turns out, my feet were just swelling from a mix of 5-mile morning meditation walks and a solid sunburn.

For a guy who hates feet, I sure do keep coming back to them.

Intention. Let’s leave it at that. Bring intention into the process of my life. Take a photo or video with intention. I routinely go through my photo app and delete old images. So many of them I can’t even remember taking. Plus, I have this weird paranoia that they’re taking up too much space on my computer or iCloud. I even go through my phone settings and delete all the images I’ve sent via text or email. A bit obsessive, maybe, but it gives me peace and something to do while waiting for a flight.

How often do you clean out your photo app?

But hey, let me step down from my shoebox—I’m just as guilty as everyone else. I recently sent a selfie to friends of a beautiful sunrise. The sunrise was stunning, the beach surreal, the clouds and dappled sunlight making it look almost like a painting. But the real reason? To show my friends—who have been concerned about my mental and physical health this past year—that life is getting better. That I’m feeling lighter.

Traveling has become a sport, a hunt for the best backdrop, the most eye-catching YouTube thumbnail. My first morning in Bangkok, I visited a wat (temple) and wandered around, watching the beginnings of a Buddhist ceremonial festivity. Then I noticed a woman from Spain (I overheard her talking) walking around with a selfie stick, hunting for the best backdrops. She moved with purpose, targeting certain areas like a dog catching a scent—snapping a quick video, striking a pose, then moving on. She wasn’t really looking, wasn’t really engaging. The temple, the history, the high-ranking monk presiding over the ceremony—it was all just digital content for her, another set piece to enhance her glossy duck lips and make her followers envious.

She was extracting digital information from the scene.

Or perhaps I’m just an asshole. As they say in the Midwest, "So there’s that."

Maybe she’s had a rough time the last few years, too. Maybe she just wanted to show her friends that she’s feeling better, living life, and loving her new lips in Bangkok. You do you.

Maybe we all just want to be seen.

The Double-Edged Sword of Social Media

Social media has become a game of one-upmanship, a culture of curated holiness. "Look at me, look at how enlightened I am." Even the word follower carries an almost religious weight. Being detached from it is a paradox—I miss updates from friends, yet I’ve found that stepping away has freed up energy for other things. I’ve been diving into new music-making apps on the iPad, revisiting Final Cut Pro after a 15yr + hiatus, and working on a few passion projects. And let’s be honest, when I was on social media, it wasn’t even showing me the people I cared about. Instead, I’d get updates about some ripped guy in a yurt, drinking goat pee, doing yoga, and trying to sell me an e-book on how the new GOAT meme coin was going to bring me riches and enlightenment.

https://www.quora.com/Whats-the-difference-between-a-friend-and-a-follower-on-Facebook

Interactions in real life have shifted too. I see it in hotels, cafes, restaurants and hanging out, but now everyone’s buried in their phones. I’m guilty of it myself. Right now, as I eat breakfast, I realize I’ve spent the entire time writing this post in my notes app instead of engaging with the seven strangers around me. Too be honest I have had one conversation in the last two weeks. I’m starting to glitch.

Memories for Sale

Lately, my dreams have taken a turn—straight into a William Gibson-Terry Gilliam fever dream. People from my past are there—familiar, yet distant. They inform me, in the tone of a well-rehearsed customer service script, that I no longer need my memories. "They’re the past. They only weigh you down."

A device is placed on my head, sleek and metallic, like some retro-futuristic apparatus straight out of Brazil. The room dims, and suddenly, my memories—raw, unfiltered—begin to project into the air. Floating holographic reels spin around me, playing out like lost footage from a dream I’ve already forgotten. There’s my childhood bike, my grandmother’s hands as she cuts meatloaf, an ex-lover laughing in the golden light of an apartment I no longer remember the address to. They hover, flickering, as unseen algorithms analyze them, sorting, tagging, determining what is obsolete, what can be repurposed, and what—if anything—should remain.

I watch as they extract pieces of me, compartmentalizing my past like a hard drive purge. Some memories are sucked into sleek black vaults, others dissolve into static, wiped clean. It feels oddly relieving, like decluttering a house I didn’t know I still lived in.

And then the corporate voice chimes in again, smooth, emotionless: "You are now optimized for your future."

I wake up disoriented but strangely...lighter. The environment has changed. Thes people are no longer imprinted on my memory.

What if we could offload memories? Free up space for something new. Would we? Should we?

Or are we already doing it, one deleted photo at a time?

Sounds like a I need to go on another “distracted mediation walk” and clear out the hard drive.

Hey Stackers of the sub, If you’d like to support these adventures with a cup of coffee, a bowl of my favorite soup, or even an SD card for storing all my memories / photos, consider becoming a paid subscriber—for the very specific and slightly ominous price of $6.66 a month which equals $80 a year.

BONUS MATERIAL: When people ask how’s it going? I will send this.

Love & Light;

MM