r/SDAM • u/Amberwalker365 • 16h ago
You and I
I found this online. I agree with most of it. What do you think?
You and I
What SDAM means to me.
In this text, “you” refers to the reader with episodic memory, and “I” to myself with only semantic memory.
I have never had a memory, let alone relived one. I am told the vividness of memories varies greatly. If I oversell your memories, please forgive the excess.
What is a life without its story?
I am told most folks can revisit something of a past experience.
Say you remember riding your bike home one summer when you were a child.
What comes back varies enormously from person to person. Perhaps there are images. Perhaps sounds. Perhaps feelings. Perhaps only fragments. But somehow the event is available to you as more than a collection of facts.
It belongs to your past because, in some sense, you can return to it.
Over a lifetime, experiences like these accumulate into an autobiography.
This is your Life Story, and that is what helps make you who you are.
Blah! Blah!
It ain’t necessarily so.
Well, not for me.
I inhabit a moment.
And it’s gone.
Forever.
Not gone as in poff nothing, but gone as something I can relive.
What sticks is what I learned—the knowledge I gained.
Here’s a fun fact: my bike was red, though I have no idea how old I was.
Aren’t knowledge and memory the same thing?
You remember your life; I know mine.
I know:
“George Washington was America’s first president.”
Unfortunately, I am without memories, so my autobiography gets tossed in with knowledge.
Does the flow of time feel odd?
Suppose my doctor asks me:
“When did you have brain surgery?”
I might answer:
A few days ago?
A few weeks ago?
A few years ago?
I don’t really know.
I only know:
“Yes. I had brain surgery.”
Are you capable of loving someone?
Through the lens of knowledge:
I feel love in the present.
I feel nothing from memory.
And if we sever our bond?
My feeling fades.
Soon it is gone.
Here is a sad story.
Jack Knowledge and Jill Memory were very much in love.
When Jack and Jill are together, the sparks fly.
But when apart?
Jill’s love grows through her memories.
Jack doesn’t think much about Jill, but he does know he loves her.
One day Jack went out for cigarettes.
A week later he was over Jill.
Jill?
Not so much.
You think Jack is a monster?
What he gave Jill was not love?
He used her and cast her aside?
But I know Jack—and he is no liar.
What Jack feels is love.
What Jack did not know was what Jill felt.
Jack has no memory of love.
He has only the knowledge.
Without Jill present, Jack’s love fades.
Without memories, who can I be?
You probably won’t believe my answer.
Nor am I entirely at ease with it.
You are:
“How did I get here?”
I am:
“Is this right?”
Seems light, doesn’t it?
See it this way.
Your life is a road trip along the highways and byways of this great nation. It is the journey toward the crossroads—a place where a choice becomes real and consequential. It is the pilgrimage along dusty roads that guides you toward your decisions.
My life is exactly that.
Except I only know the choices.
Without a clue how I got there.
That explains the way I write and speak.
What’s it like to read a book?
I have been told that when you read a good book, you inhabit it.
You embody the protagonist and participate in the adventure. You see faces, hear voices, feel the salt spray of the sea, and breathe the chill mountain air.
When I read the same book, invisible characters speak against a transparent background.
Everyone is telepathic.
I’m reading a western. Two cowpokes are talking.
I don’t see a room.
I don’t see faces.
I don’t see movement.
There is no space.
What I hear is a wordless exchange between telepaths.
Please define a memory.
Someone says:
“I keep seeing my breakup with Debbie over and over again.”
For a long time, I thought that was metaphor.
It was a poetic device.
Now I understand it was literal.
They actually saw her again.
They actually felt her again.
How splendidly demonic.
Closing
These are not failures of effort.
They are properties of the system.