2 . People may typically think of memory as the recollection of the past. Memory enables people to learn from past experiences and apply that knowledge in present circumstances. It is a vital part of our identity. So is culture, the way of life specific to a group of people.

Cultural memory is the constructed understanding of the past that is passed from one generation to the next through text, oral traditions, monuments and other symbols. Cultural memory is often amassed in objects, such as museums or historical monuments. To understand culture, humans access a mass of cultural symbols, such as books. Artifacts (历史文物) of the past provide insights into where we came from. Libraries and the Internet keep a seemingly boundless amount of data on what it means to be part of a culture. Cultural memory is the longest-lasting form of memory.

Like all forms of memory, cultural memory has important functions. For example, it makes the experiences a nation owns clear. It provides us with an understanding of the past and the values of the group to which we belong. Besides, it creates a form of shared identity and a means for communicating this identity to new members. The most powerful forms of cultural memory may involve memories of past disastrous experiences undergone by groups of victims. For example, in Russia, their role in World War Ⅱ — in which tens of millions of Russians were killed — is still an important part of modern Russian identity. Because all groups have cultural memory, it can bring about a spirit of resistance or survival among threatened groups.

The main function of cultural memory is not to recall the past, whether it is good or bad. Rather, it is to use knowledge of past experiences to avoid making the same mistakes again and again. Aleida Assmann, a professor who has worked on memory theory since the 1960s, calls this “remembering forward”. Cultural memory enables people to adapt to their culture; it enables cultures to adapt to new circumstances by keeping traces (痕迹) of what worked in the past.

4 . My parents never once spoke of the stress of having to pay for college, but I knew enough to appreciate that it was there. Therefore, when my French teacher announced that she’d be leading an optional class trip to Paris over one of our ________ for those who could come up with the money to do it, I didn’t even ________ to raise the issue at home.

Yet one evening my parents ________ me down, looking puzzled. My mom had learned about the France trip through my friend’s mom.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she said.

“Because it’s too much money.” I replied.

“That’s actually not for you to decide, Michelle,” my dad said gently, feeling almost ________. “And how are we supposed to decide, if we don’t even know about it?”

I looked at them both, ________ of what to say. My mother glanced at me, her eyes soft. My father had changed out of his work uniform and into a clean white shirt. They were in their early forties then, married nearly twenty years. Neither one of them had ever ________ in Europe. They never took beach trips or went out to dinner. They didn’t own a house. Everything went into us. It seemed that we were their only ________, me and my brother.

A few months later, I ________ a flight to Paris with my teacher and a dozen or so of my classmates from Whitney Young in Chicago. We would stay in a hostel, and ________ the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. We’d buy snacks from ________ on the street and walk along the banks of the Seine. We’d speak French like a bunch of high school kids from Chicago, but we’d at least speak French.

As the plane ________ from its gate that day, I looked out my window and back at the airport, knowing that my mother stood somewhere behind its black-glass window, dressed in her winter coat and waving me on. I remember all the ________. I remember the jet engines firing, ________ loud. And then we were rattling (嘎啦嘎啦地响) down the runway and beginning to tilt (倾斜) upward as the ________ seized my chest and pressed me backward into my seat for that strange, in-between moment that came before I felt ________ finally.

6 . It was a winter afternoon when, rushing to attend the final show of my art school degree, I caught the heel of my boot on the edge of a pavement. Suddenly, I was flying through the air. If the past two years studying photography had taught me anything, it was an appreciation of how things can change in a thousandth of a second. Light, shadow, colors, all are in a constant state of flux (不断的变动) — as is life. And since crash-landing onto my left shoulder, I have been living through the truth of this wisdom.

That day, doctors diagnosed a cracked bone. It was only the next morning when, instinctively, I tried to capture some spectacular sunlight streaming into my kitchen, that I had to face the harsh reality: I could no longer lift my camera, let alone use it. Later that weak, a hospital appointment confirmed my worst fear — the arm needed total rest.

Soon, I became cantankerous and impatient. I couldn’t travel, I couldn’t go anywhere much. Surfing online, I came across the concept of gratitude interventions and their role in boosting mood and well-being. A Californian psychologist, Sonja Lyubomirsky, has pioneered research into using a daily photography practice as a tool for enhanced gratitude. Her instructions are simple, but not necessarily easy. Take photographs throughout the day of things that are central to who you are. Take at least five photos a day. Initially, it felt like a demanding task. But reading how participants assigned to the gratitude interventions had experienced enhanced positive emotions, I decided to persevere.

Pain forced me to slow down, because capturing a single iPhone photo was painful. And yet, the struggle to find anything to feel grateful about, and then to record it, started to dramatically improve both my mood and my images. I began to photograph the most boring details of my days, from my breakfast cup to a red pepper reflected in the window. Despite everything, I found I could find magic in the ordinary. “Life seems repetitive and boring when you don’t notice the uniqueness of each moment and the constant subtle changes that are going on all around you,” writes Andy Karr in a wonderful book on photography. I agree, but don’t just take my word for it — experience it for yourself.

7 . Have you ever wondered about the universal layout (布局) of supermarkets? Smart designers are behind it, subtly tempting you to walk through each aisle and fill your cart without even realizing it.

Grocery store design is a carefully crafted art from both psychological and marketing standpoints, according to Reeves Connelly, who studied architectural design at the Pratt Institute. He explained there is a specific reason why fruit and vegetables are often located at the front of the store, “You’ll grab the fruits and vegetables first and then hopefully feel less guilty about buying junk food later on.” Meanwhile, essential items such as milk and eggs are placed at the back of the store to ensure customers walk through other aisles with many unhealthy options like snacks and sodas, potentially increasing the likelihood of impulse purchases.

There’s also a reason why you often feel lost in local supermarkets. Shockingly, they move things around. Reeves explained, “They are very much aware that these strategies become less effective after you visit the store a few times and get a better sense of where everything is, so they’ll regularly move the products to different aisles to confuse you. The practice is not limited to a specific store but is employed across various retail chains.”

“Their little tricks always work on me,” one regular shopper admits, “I walk in to get three things and end up spending $300; that’s why I hate grocery shopping,” he said. On the other hand, some shoppers are proud to declare they have never fallen into the trap. “That’s why I always keep a shopping list on me,” another shopper shared. “I’ve started having my groceries delivered. If I have to go to the store, I never grab a cart. If I can’t carry it, I’m not buying it,” he added.