The beginning of the cognitive revolution (essay)

I can remember what it feels like to be seven. I can remember what it feels like to be ten, and thirteen and sixteen, and so on. I wonder if it will always be that way. I think about my grandmother. Is there anything left for her to figure out? I wonder what she feels like right now. Can she tell me if anything matters anymore? Can she tell me if anything ever did? I’m thinking about reincarnation. I’m thinking about death. I’m thinking about a baby’s perspective. If you don’t believe in heaven, can you still be let in?

I used to imagine the kid version of my dad. I like to think he is still in there. The teenage version, the young adult version of every woman I’ve ever talked to, is still there. What does she think of me? What does she think of herself? I’m thinking about dogs and their restrictions. I’m thinking about wild horses and how good it must feel to be sturdy and strong and athletic and fast. I think about how frustrating it is to be misunderstood, like a middle child or a baby or my sister. I think about a corrupt household. I think about a curious teenager, now an adult, and now homeless. I think about the people who have no idea how wrong they are. I think about regret and I think about Chicago. I think about the words I can’t take back. I think about the most important mistake I’ve ever made and I hope she knows I’m talking about her. I hope she knows I kept the sticky note with her drawing of a cat and I hope she knows I miss having someone who would meow back.

I think about love and it’s power. I think about relationships and infidelity. I think about the ex-husband who killed himself. My heart hurts for the cheater. I think about guilt and love and mercy and shame. I think about ancient humans. I think about human nature. I think about the tragedy of never being known in a deep, and different, and intimate way.

Sometimes I imagine my life way down the line. I wonder how pretty my daughter will be. I wonder which sibling will have kids first. I hate to imagine what perspective I’d have, had I been brought up by someone else. And I’m glad I don’t have to. I’m the favorite to some people. I can’t help that. I can’t help you and I don’t want to. It feels good to be selfish sometimes.

I think about every universe that exists within one person. I think about the girls my age who live on the other side of the world, and I think about their perspective. I think about how sad it is that I can’t get to know as many people as I want to. I want to climb into every brain I like and learn something new. I think about Emily Dickinson. I think about having never seen the sea. I think about time travel and history and the beginning of the cognitive revolution… I think and I think and I think and I think……