The Best We Could Hope For

by Nicola Kraus

Vivid memories produce widespread activation in the brain . . . a pattern that is virtually identical whether the “memory” is based on experience or not. There is, it seems, no mechanism in the mind or the brain for ensuring the truth . . . of our recollections.

If I had not—if he had not—if she had not—but I did and he did and she did—and our parents did—and their parents did—back and back to the first drought, the first failed crop, the first spike of rage taken out on someone smaller, weaker, more vulnerable nearby who learns a new option—a new choice. And so, it goes. She cannot move.

There is a mechanism whereby our brains filter out most of what our eyes pass over. We don’t see what we’re not expecting to see. We don’t see what we don’t want to see.

What does it feel like to be the thing that can be given up? Left behind? Quit? Again and again?

Lin is starting to suspect that sanity might be the ability to hold a dichotomy, embrace paradox. Perhaps your brothers are wildly successful carpenters. Perhaps you love your sister and hate your sister—but if you only hold one of these truths, where does that leave you?