I’ve picked up a new pastime in the evenings: Mario Kart.
Earlier this year, I visited some of my favorite people, and they introduced me to their new Nintendo Switch. We played a lot of Mario Kart, both adults and kids together. When I got home, I thought, “I want one of these, too!” Now, I can play online with them, even at a distance. I love it.
But this post isn’t really about Mario Kart. One night, when they weren’t available to play, I decided to download a collection of old NES games. These are the same games from the original Nintendo Entertainment System I had as a kid. I played Super Mario Bros. and Zelda (the OG, which I adored). But the game I spent the most time on that night was Super Mario Bros. 3.
Here’s the thing that amazed me: I still have the muscle memory from my 8, 9, and 10-year-old self. I still know exactly where to jump to get that hidden coin or extra life. I can anticipate which Goombas or Koopas will appear around the corner. I know just how to run and jump to hit the corner of the box at the end of the round and get the star.
How do I remember all of this? I couldn’t have recalled it consciously until I started playing again, but it’s truly embedded in my body’s memory. Muscle memory, in full force.
Now, I don’t want to stretch this into some grand metaphor from gaming, but… maybe there are some interesting questions here. Let’s move beyond Nintendo for a moment:
What else remains in our bones? What do we suddenly remember how to do when we’re in the right context? Who taught you these things? What life experiences shaped them? And how can you take what comes naturally to you—what’s been formed in you—and apply it to this moment we’re living together?
— Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 