You need to have a short-term memory. That's a big thing that I

In the words of the warrior of the court, Bradley Beal, there lies a lesson as old as battle and as enduring as the stars: “You need to have a short-term memory. That’s a big thing that I learned a lot. Moving on from games, even good games that I have. Move on from them and be prepared for the next night.” These words may appear simple to the untrained ear, but within them burns a fire of wisdom that many men spend lifetimes failing to grasp. To walk the path of greatness, one must learn not only to fight but to let go. One must release both failure and victory, lest they become shackled by either.

For behold, the ancients knew this truth well. The generals of old would say that yesterday’s triumph on the battlefield meant nothing when dawn’s light revealed a new war. Alexander the Great, after conquering one land, did not dwell on his laurels; his gaze was ever forward, pressing toward the next horizon. Had he lingered too long in the glory of a single conquest, the fire of his ambition would have dimmed, and his empire might never have spanned from Greece to India. Memory is a treasure, but clinging to it can be a chain.

The meaning of Beal’s words is thus: the spirit must cultivate resilience. To carry the weight of a lost game, a missed opportunity, or a bitter mistake is to walk into battle already wounded. Likewise, to carry the weight of victory, to bask too long in yesterday’s greatness, is to enter tomorrow’s struggle distracted and unprepared. Both sorrow and triumph must be set aside, like garments removed at day’s end. What matters most is the readiness to fight again when the sun rises.

Consider the tale of the Roman general Scipio Africanus. After defeating Hannibal at Zama, he did not allow his army to grow soft with victory. He reminded them that the world remained full of dangers, and that an unguarded people, though victorious once, would fall if they lived in memory rather than vigilance. His wisdom echoes Beal’s: the moment you cling to a past result—whether exalted or shameful—you risk leaving yourself unready for the next night.

So too must we, in our daily struggles, embody this principle. The worker who laments yesterday’s error cannot give full strength to today’s task. The student who bathes too long in the praise of past achievement risks falling when tomorrow’s test arrives. Life demands not memory, but renewal. Just as the athlete erases the record of yesterday to focus on today’s challenge, so must each of us cultivate a short-term memory for the burdens of the heart.

And yet, this does not mean we cast memory into the void. No—memory is to be honored, but not worshipped. Like the farmer who gathers the harvest and then clears the field, we take the fruit of our experiences—lessons, wisdom, courage—and let the rest fall away. What matters is not the shadow of what has passed, but the strength to meet what is yet to come. This is how a soul remains unbroken, light on its feet, and sharp in its resolve.

The lesson is clear: Do not cling. Do not dwell. Prepare. Let neither the sweetness of victory nor the bitterness of defeat blind your eyes to the task that awaits. Instead, carry forward only the wisdom, leaving behind the weight. The actions one must take are simple, yet demanding: at the end of each day, breathe deeply, give thanks for the experience, take its lesson into your heart, and then release it. Rise each morning not as the person of yesterday, but as the warrior reborn for today.

For the ancients would say, “The river does not pause to admire the stones it has passed; it flows ever onward.” So too must you. In this way, the words of Bradley Beal are not merely advice for athletes, but a guide for all who battle in life. Forget quickly, learn deeply, and prepare always. That is the way to endure, the way to triumph, the way to live.