100 books like Why We Remember

In sixth grade, I got into an argument with my neighbor, Billy. We were in his backyard, looking at the stars through his new telescope. “I see Orion,” said Billy. “What do you see?” “A bunch of stars.” “I aimed it at Orion. See him?” ”I see a bunch of stars.” “Don’t you see his belt? His sword?” Billy got more agitated. “Everybody knows that’s Orion. I can’t believe you can’t see him.” “It’s not actually Orion – it was just a bunch of stars until someone told a story about it and gave it meaning.” That compelled me to write, to construct a meaning for what I experienced, and try to make sense of it.

In sixth grade, I got into an argument with my neighbor, Billy. We were in his backyard, looking at the stars through his new telescope. “I see Orion,” said Billy. “What do you see?” “A bunch of stars.” “I aimed it at Orion. See him?” ”I see a bunch of stars.” “Don’t you see his belt? His sword?” Billy got more agitated. “Everybody knows that’s Orion. I can’t believe you can’t see him.” “It’s not actually Orion – it was just a bunch of stars until someone told a story about it and gave it meaning.” That compelled me to write, to construct a meaning for what I experienced, and try to make sense of it.

In sixth grade, I got into an argument with my neighbor, Billy. We were in his backyard, looking at the stars through his new telescope. “I see Orion,” said Billy. “What do you see?” “A bunch of stars.” “I aimed it at Orion. See him?” ”I see a bunch of stars.” “Don’t you see his belt? His sword?” Billy got more agitated. “Everybody knows that’s Orion. I can’t believe you can’t see him.” “It’s not actually Orion – it was just a bunch of stars until someone told a story about it and gave it meaning.” That compelled me to write, to construct a meaning for what I experienced, and try to make sense of it.

In sixth grade, I got into an argument with my neighbor, Billy. We were in his backyard, looking at the stars through his new telescope. “I see Orion,” said Billy. “What do you see?” “A bunch of stars.” “I aimed it at Orion. See him?” ”I see a bunch of stars.” “Don’t you see his belt? His sword?” Billy got more agitated. “Everybody knows that’s Orion. I can’t believe you can’t see him.” “It’s not actually Orion – it was just a bunch of stars until someone told a story about it and gave it meaning.” That compelled me to write, to construct a meaning for what I experienced, and try to make sense of it.

As a trauma therapist and dedicated researcher, I love uncovering valuable insights within lesser-known books. There are hidden gems, free from the pressure of commercial success, crafted by authors deeply committed to research, understanding, and the art of writing itself. Their dedication resonates with me, as I believe in the profound value of information and the power of critical thinking. Through my own book, Traumatization and Its Aftermath, I aim to emphasize that psychological concepts often lose their depth in translation and my mission is spreading awareness and fostering a deeper understanding of trauma and its intricate facets. With that idea in mind, I chose these five titles. 

I’ve been a practicing clinical psychologist for over thirty years. I’ve seen many patients who have suffered from OCD – some to the point of being debilitated by their symptoms. Few things are as gratifying as helping someone overcome OCD and live a normal life. While the disorder can be confusing, once people understand what OCD is and how to treat it, they can literally change their lives for the better. This is why I went into this field to begin with, and after thirty years, I still feel privileged and grateful when I can help someone escape the prison of OCD symptoms. 

In my career as an academic librarian, I was often asked to teach students to think about the credibility of the information they incorporate into their academic, professional, personal, and civic lives. In my teaching and writing, I have struggled to make sense of the complex and nuanced factors that make some information more credible and other information less so. I don’t have all the answers for dealing with problematic information, but I try hard to convince people to think carefully about the information they encounter before accepting any of it as credible or dismissing any of it as non-credible.

It might be a stretch to call me an expert in ethics, but I have taught ethics for more than 30 years and I’ve read deeply in the field of behavioral ethics. I'm proud of the work I’ve done with the Ethics Unwrapped video project, though most of the credit goes to filmmakers Cara Biasucci (co-author of Behavioral Ethics in Practice: Why We Sometimes Make the Wrong Decisions) and Lazaro Hernandez (producer of Ethics Unwrapped). My passion for this topic is driven largely by the fact that I want my two daughters to live in a world where most people are trying to do the right thing most of the time. 

I’m an emeritus professor of psychology (University of Washington) who has long been intrigued by the mistakes that people have made throughout history. I’ve long been struck by Oppenheimer’s observation, immediately after the Trinity explosion, that “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” This led me to look into the wide array of mistakes, from the mythic, literary, athletic, business, political, medical, and military. In writing OOPS!, I let myself go in a way that I’ve never before, writing with a critical and wise-ass style that isn’t strictly academic, but is factually accurate and, frankly, was a lot of fun!

I’ve always looked to books for support, even as a child when in need of comfort from my parents’ constant fighting. As I became older, I looked for ways to build stress resilience and optimism, so it was only natural that I would turn to books again. I would spend hours in libraries and bookstores reading the self-help books. I eventually went on to get a master’s degree in counseling and a doctoral degree in clinical psychology, each providing plenty of opportunity to expand my collection. I now write my own self-help books and cherish the idea of giving someone else the support I once so desperately needed.