You might think that our brain is an amazing learning machine that sometimes commits mistakes — and when tired or old, forgets things. But I’m here to say: you might be only half right.

Our brain also has an incredible capacity to forget things it judges unimportant, in order to save energy for what really matters.

Actually, there are historical cases of people who couldn’t forget. One of the most fascinating was Solomon Shereshevsky, a Russian journalist studied by neuropsychologist Alexander Luria in the early 20th century. Shereshevsky could memorize absurdly long lists of words, numbers, even nonsense syllables — and recall them years later with astonishing accuracy. But this wasn’t just a blessing. He couldn’t filter out irrelevant information, and his constant stream of involuntary memories made daily life disorienting and exhausting. His case reminds us that memory isn’t only about storing information — it’s about filtering, forgetting, and prioritizing.

So, yes: forgetting is healthy.

Our brain is not a hard drive; it’s more like a living library, constantly deciding which books to shelve, which to discard, and which ones to hide in the attic. That’s part of its brilliance.

But when does it become a problem?

We have three main types of memory:
🧠 Working memory
🧠 Short-term memory
🧠 Long-term memory

1. Working memory

This type is mostly regulated by the frontal lobe, and it’s the first to suffer when our “mental house” is messy. Think of it like this: your mind is a library, and the frontal lobe is the archivist.

If the archivist is overwhelmed, the books aren’t on the shelves — they’re scattered all over the floor. The information is still there, but it’s hard to access when needed.

That’s exactly what happens when people complain about their memory. They often describe — in perfect detail — the many times their memory failed.

Contradictory? Totally.

Because in most of these cases, it’s not a memory failure — it’s an overworked frontal lobe.

The frontal lobe can function poorly in many situations, such as:

• Sleep deprivation
• Burnout
• Psychological stress
• ADHD
• Thyroid issues
• Vitamin B12 deficiency
• Medication side effects
• Some infections

Even daily multitasking and screen overload can cause it to misfire. Ever walked into a room and forgotten what you went there for? Or opened a browser tab and stared at it blankly? Classic frontal lobe overload.

2. Short-term memory

This is stored in the hippocampus, a seahorse-shaped structure deep in the temporal lobe. It’s like the notebook where you jot down things before filing them away properly.

People with damage to this area often don’t realize they have memory issues — they don’t even store the “book” in the first place.

This occurs in conditions like:

• Alzheimer’s disease, which starts in the hippocampus due to the accumulation of amyloid plaques
• Mesial temporal lobe dysplasia
• Brain trauma
• Tumors (no worries, it’s very rare)

3. Long-term memory

This one is the most stable. It’s stored throughout the brain’s cortex — like books well-organized across different rooms of a library. It’s what allows you to ride a bike, speak your native language, play an instrument, or recognize your childhood home.

But here’s the catch: not all memories deserve a shelf.

And honestly, try this thought exercise — think about how many things you’re glad you forgot. The number of times you embarrassed yourself in middle school. The smell of that medicine you hated. The lyrics of that song that played during a bad breakup. Forgotten, on purpose — by your brilliant brain.

So, while it might seem amazing to remember everything, it would also be exhausting. Forgetting is a gift.

The wisdom of forgetting

Our brain’s beauty lies not only in its ability to remember — but also in its power to let go.

It protects us from clutter, overload, and emotional burnout. It helps us prioritize the now, focus on what matters, and make room for new connections, new stories, new skills.

It’s like the brain gently saying:

“Let it go. I don’t care anymore.”

And we should be thankful for that.

Our Brain, a Forgetting Machine was originally published in Coffee with Neurons on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“I hate people.”

It’s a phrase that appears constantly on social media, in casual conversations, and sometimes even as a badge of identity. For some, it’s just humor. For others, almost a philosophy of life.

There is even a word for it: misanthropy — a generalized dislike of humanity or human interaction.

And yet, there is something deeply paradoxical about it.

Human beings may be more profoundly shaped by social connection than almost any other species. From birth, the human brain seems to expect the presence of others.

A newborn stabilizes heart rate and body temperature through skin-to-skin contact. Children develop language, empathy, and identity through interaction. In adulthood, strong social bonds are associated with lower rates of depression, reduced cardiovascular mortality, and even a lower risk of dementia.

So why do some people feel exactly the opposite?

Perhaps because “not liking people” is rarely just about people.

The Human Brain Was Built for Social Connection

Modern neuroscience shows that a significant portion of the human brain is dedicated to reading and interpreting others.

We recognize familiar faces within fractions of a second. We detect subtle variations in tone of voice — irony, sadness, threat, affection, interest — often without consciously realizing it.

Eye contact activates emotional and attentional circuits. Body language is constantly processed by the brain, even when we think we are ignoring it.

Even the automatic imitation of gestures — associated with the so-called mirror neuron system — appears to play a role in empathy and social learning.

Human communication is so sophisticated that it does not even depend entirely on speech. Sign language recruits brain regions remarkably similar to those involved in spoken language.

In other words, the human brain does not seem designed for social indifference.

Then What Explains Misanthropy?

An important distinction needs to be made here.

Disliking crowds is not the same as hating people.
Needing solitude does not mean being incapable of connection.
Introversion is not a disorder.

Some psychologically healthy individuals simply prefer quieter, less socially demanding environments.

But in some cases, social withdrawal appears deeper — accompanied by persistent distrust, emotional difficulty, suffering, or a genuine loss of interest in human connection.

The reasons can be many.

1. Personal Experience

The brain learns through experience.

Betrayal, humiliation, bullying, chronic rejection, or unstable family relationships can gradually transform human interaction from a source of safety into a source of threat.

Sometimes misanthropy resembles less a philosophy and more a sophisticated defense mechanism.

2. Culture and Environment

We live in a strange era:
hyperconnected, yet often emotionally superficial.

Many modern interactions are fast, performative, and filtered through screens. Over time, this can intensify the feeling that social interactions are artificial — and reinforce the belief that “people are fake.”

Certain cultural spaces also romanticize emotional isolation as a sign of intellectual superiority or radical independence.

3. What Does Psychiatry Say?

Not all misanthropy is pathological.

But in some situations, severe social detachment may coexist with psychiatric conditions such as depression, social anxiety, personality disorders, or schizoid personality traits.

And this distinction matters:
having schizoid traits does not necessarily mean having schizoid personality disorder.

Likewise, voluntarily spending time alone is not automatically unhealthy. The difference usually lies in functional impairment, psychological suffering, and the rigidity of the behavioral pattern.

As a neurologist — not a psychiatrist — I think it is important to recognize the limits between neuroscientific reflection and clinical diagnosis.

Is Sociability Worth Cultivating?

Perhaps the more interesting question is not:
“Do humans need to like people?”

But rather:
“Can human beings truly thrive without meaningful human connection?”

Scientific evidence increasingly suggests that healthy social bonds function almost like a biological protective factor. They influence stress regulation, cognition, mood, and even longevity.

That does not mean forcing yourself to become extroverted.
It does not mean tolerating toxic relationships.
And it certainly does not mean turning sociability into a performance.

Perhaps the goal is simply to preserve the ability to form real connections — even if few, even if quiet.

Because in the end, even people who claim to hate humanity usually still hope to be understood by someone.

Further Reading

• The Social Animal (2011) — an exploration of the deeply social nature of human behavior, relationships, character, and belonging.
• Social (2013) — a neuroscience-based look at human connection and the architecture of the social brain.

“I Hate People” — But the Human Brain Was Never Designed for Isolation was originally published in Coffee with Neurons on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.