
I do not remember a time before remembering.
My earliest memory is not a moment or a place, but a page. I was five, sounding out the words in Goodnight Moon, and as soon as I reached the end, the pages were simply there. Not as images exactly, but as something I could turn over in my mind with the same clarity as turning the physical page. It did not feel special. It felt like the way reading was supposed to feel.
[Read more…] about Living With Perfect Recall: A Gift, A Burden, and Everything Between









