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Why forgetting a name isn’t the whole story

I was mid-sentence when it happened. The name was right there. I could see the person’s face. I could hear the story. But the name was gone.

So I paused and consulted my personal librarian, the one who curates my brain’s filing system.

“Do you have any idea,” she says, gesturing around her, “how many files you’ve given me to manage?”

And it’s true. Decades of conversations. Clients. Family stories. Lessons. Books. Travel. Loss. Growth. Thousands of names. Thousands of stories.

Eventually, the answer arrives, usually later, often when I’ve stopped trying so hard to remember.

Can you relate? That moment when a name or memory is just out of reach. It can be frustrating.

It was Arthur Brooks who introduced me to the idea of our “personal research librarian,” the part of the brain tasked with sifting through a vast archive of lived experience. The moment I understood that my librarian, slightly slow and perhaps a little disheveled, has an enormous job to do, something shifted. I stopped blaming myself and started appreciating the size of the library.

In From Strength to Strength, Brooks explains that when we are younger, we rely heavily on fluid intelligence. That is the quick thinking, rapid recall, and ability to solve new problems fast. As we grow older, fluid intelligence may soften, but crystallised intelligence strengthens.

Crystallised intelligence is built from experience. It is pattern recognition, judgement and wisdom. It is the ability to teach, guide and connect ideas across decades.

Brooks suggests that happiness in the second half of life depends on recognising this shift, accepting it, and learning how to use it well. This really resonates with me. It reminds me of something Viktor Frankl once wrote. Early in life, he said, we tend to ask, “What can I expect from life?” Later, the question changes to, “What does life expect of me?”

That feels like the heart of crystallised intelligence.

Perhaps this chapter is not about trying to think the way we did at thirty. Maybe it’s about asking how our experience, our judgement and our perspective can serve something bigger than ourselves.

I see this in my new role at Chartered. My work has shifted. I am less focused on doing everything myself and far more energised by mentoring, teaching, offering counsel and being of service. I enjoy guiding younger planners and bringing perspective. And I have realised that this kind of contribution feels deeply satisfying.

So yes, I look after my brain. I exercise, I challenge it with new tasks (I am now surprisingly competent at setting up smart TVs and installing remote controls) and use supplements like creatine and magnesium. I’ve also found that meditation really helps with focus and clarity.

But in the end, acceptance may be the most powerful support of all.

This chapter of life may ask us to use our gifts differently, with less rush and more wisdom, less proving and more serving.

And that, I think, is a beautiful trade.

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