The remembering self does not store raw experience. It constructs a story: highlights, turning points, explanations, endings.
That story shapes identity. You remember yourself as the person who endured, failed, changed, triumphed. The daily texture—neutral and repetitive—largely disappears.
Stories reward coherence. They turn accidents into meaning and smooth contradictions into character arcs. This can be comforting, but it can also distort what truly mattered moment to moment.
The fast system supplies feelings; the slow system edits them into narrative. Once the narrative exists, it becomes the lens through which you interpret new experiences.
If you want a wiser life evaluation, notice how much your satisfaction depends on the remembered plot. Sometimes improving the ending improves the story, even if it barely changes the lived experience.