My life is both plagued and blessed by the fact that I possess a memory that surpasses most people’s expectations of what should and could be catalogued in the vast span of one’s existence. You might assume I’m exaggerating, but I assure you I am not. I can recall details that would otherwise vanish for most—dialogue exchanges, the precise placement of objects, the song playing in the background during a conversation years ago, or even what someone wore to a dinner that neither of us thought noteworthy at the time. For better or worse, my brain has a filing cabinet that never seems to purge. This astonishes people, and sometimes it unsettles them, because who remembers these things?
The answer: I do.
Having such a memory is a curious gift. On the surface, it might seem trivial, and indeed, most of the time it is. I remember moments and trivia that might appear mundane and unnecessary—completely useless unless I happen to find myself in a heated pub trivia battle where knowing the origin of the word “gobbledygook” could seal the win. (Fun fact: it was coined in 1944 by a Texas congressman who compared overly complicated language to the sounds of a turkey. But I digress.)
Sometimes, being a walking Rolodex of minutiae feels like an odd party trick, and other times, it feels like a quiet superpower—something no one sees coming but leaves them stunned nonetheless.
And then, imagine my surprise—my delight, really—when I discovered there is an actual word to describe people like me. A word so deliciously obscure that its very existence sounds like something I might have fabricated. But I didn’t.
The word is spermologer.
Yes, you heard that correctly. Spermologer.
Don’t let the first syllable throw you into a blush (though I’ll admit, it did me for a moment). A spermologer, quite simply, is a person who collects trivia, facts, or bits of unimportant information—someone who hoards details, like scattered seeds of knowledge, and tucks them away for later. It comes from the Greek spermologos, meaning “a picker-up of seeds.” Isn’t that beautiful?
Now, here’s the thing about these seeds I collect. Much like pink cake—a recurring symbol in my life, both sweet and complex—what seems simple or unnecessary at first often reveals something deeper upon closer inspection. If you’ve been following along, you’ll know I’ve written many posts inspired by pink cake: its imperfection, its nostalgia, and its ability to bring meaning to the seemingly ordinary. Pink cake looks the same across the bakery window, its sugary frosting tempting but deceiving. However, only those who know better—those who’ve savored its best versions—can tell the difference.
The same is true of memory and the little details we keep.
Most people move through life, noticing only the big, polished moments. The “important” milestones. I notice those, too, but I’m equally drawn to the breadcrumbs others leave behind—the faint details, the forgotten trivia, the “useless” seeds. I collect them the way others collect heirlooms, believing that someday, they might matter. Maybe they’ll tell a fuller story of a person, a day, or a moment. Or maybe they’ll simply make me smile in the way a perfect slice of pink cake does.
Because not all pink cake is the same. Not all memories are either.
I am a memory-keeper. I am a seed-picker. I am a spermologer. And I wouldn’t trade this strange and wonderful brain of mine for anything else.
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