The Man Who Could Only Know Now

There once was a man who couldn't remember.

After experimental brain surgery to treat severe epilepsy, Henry Molaison (known as H.M. in neuroscience literature) lost the ability to form new memories. When his doctors left the room, he forgot them immediately. His life before surgery grew foggy and distant. His future couldn't extend beyond a few minutes.

Yet something unexpected happened.

His IQ scores went up.

Scientists attribute this to fewer seizures or the absence of medication-induced brain fog. But what if it was something else?

What if his intelligence improved because he was finally, truly present?

Without the ability to ruminate on past failures or anxiously project into imagined futures, H.M. existed perpetually in the now. His cognitive resources weren't divided among regrets, fears, and what-ifs. His attention was undiluted, focused entirely on problem before him.

We spend so much mental energy carrying yesterday's baggage and tomorrow's worries. Our brains run constant simulations of things that may never happen. We're everywhere except here.

What might we understand if we could set down our memories and expectations, even momentarily?

What clarity might emerge if we approached each problem, conversation, or challenge with the pure attention of someone who can only know now?

H.M. lost his memory but may have gained something the rest of us rarely experience: the undivided presence that comes from having nowhere else to be but here.