Last week my father sent me a big box full of all my stuff from college. Textbooks, journals, notebooks, even my picture of a young Claudia Schiffer that used to be on the wall.

It’s striking how much more talented I was back then.
I’m a fair doodler today, but my college cartoons are minor masterpieces. All kinds of great art, casually whipped off during classes. I found one I had put on a test (I always finished tests in a third of the alloted time and would be bored out of my skull for the rest of the time) that the teacher said should be in the New Yorker. (But no, it did not get me extra credit in the class.)
And the math. Pages filled with equations nine terms long composed almost entirely of symbols. And little notes from myself: “As long as R-sub-i is relatively large compared to R-sub-1, then sigma-sub-i is a good estimator.” I can follow along today, but I have lost a whole level or two of mathematical abstraction and intuition that used to be second nature to me.
Man, I sure got dumb.