This past weekend, my husband asked me to stop at the ATM as part of my round of errands. My first thought: "Sure, and what is my PIN?" I had this sense that the PIN I had used for the last 15 years was not at my fingertips (literally). I comforted myself with the notion that once I was in front of the ATM, muscle memory would kick in and my fingers would do the walking.

On the way to the ATM, the more I tried to recall the PIN, the worse it got. I couldn’t remember the first of four numbers. I had a sense of what numbers were part of the PIN but not the order.

When I reached the ATM, I was in full guessing mode. Each time, the screen gave me the answer I dreaded. "You have entered an incorrect PIN. Please try again."

Finally, I heard this voice behind me: "Can I go in front of you while you do your thinking?" Unbeknownst to me, a line had formed. I had no idea what my PIN was. It’s bad enough having to admit that to yourself. It’s worse when someone calls it out.

The man who asked to go in front must have felt a bit sorry for me. He explained gently, "It’s just that I’m in a hurry."

Oh sure, make it seem like you could have waited an eternity for a middle-aged woman with memory problems to have a breakthrough, if only you weren’t in a hurry. Okay, I’ll just slither to the side. I stepped out of line, "to do my thinking." 

After the line was gone, I tried one more time, unsuccessfully. By this time, I was desperate enough to blame my husband. If only he hadn’t asked me to stop at the ATM, I wouldn’t have given my PIN a second thought. I would have gone to the ATM in my own time, relaxed, without performance anxiety, with my fingers ready to tap into a familar rhythm, one that I had executed hundreds, no make that thousands, of times before.

One can only delude oneself for so long.

I finally surrendered my impeccable memory to a small piece of paper, filed away among an odd assortment of sheets, saved for just such an occasion. It was both humbling and satisfying. Humbling to know what it was like to have lost something, some capacity that I had taken for granted. And satisfying to know that it didn’t matter, as long as I could figure out an alternative or backup.

Really, I like most things about being middle-aged. Now, if only I could remember them….