on cognition

I spend most of my day in an extremely cognitive state.  It’s hard to escape the thoughts that race through my brain, and even more difficult to interfere with them.  I’ve always had an auditory cognition problem, which I think is quite tragic.  I cannot, for example, listen to music and do anything else at the same time (except dancing and some other physical activities that are done in darkened rooms).  I often find myself driving down the road, jamming out to some wonderful song, when I find the need to think about something.  This is when my hand extends to the switch, as I must turn down the noise.  Completely.

The best explanation I can give, as far as the music goes, is that I am very attentive to the detail in sound.  I listen for lyrics, primarily, followed by guitar leads and chord progressions.  I think about the implications and meanings, especially in my beloved 60s folk songs.  I try to figure out if the song is playable and within my singing range.  I think about who introduced me to the song, or where I heard it for the first time, and what it means to me.  With all of this going on in my head, it leaves little room for anything else.

I spend my days cognitively exhausted, and I wonder if I’ll make it this semester.  I spend my working hours in meetings with two highly intelligent and contemplative Ph.Ds and an equally articulate doctoral candidate.  Then I go to classes where I must constantly evaluate what is being presented to me and trying to integrate my research with the curriculum.  It’s this giant cesspool of words and context and constructions, and I’m not sure what to do with all of it.  Whereas I know I am capable of synthesizing and processing all of these things (as I am growing more and more confident when I compare myself to others in the program, even doctoral students), I’m left knowing that there has always been a defeatist in me.  The tragic brilliance that cannot adhere to anything in fear that it cannot be completely consumed and perfected.

Sometimes, as I’m driving in my car with the windows rolled down, trying to listen to a hackneyed song that I don’t have to engage with, I look at other people through various sets of tinted windows.  I try to figure out if they spend their days in a never-ending river of cognition, or if they have never even ventured to test the waters in the delta.  Then I consider the possibility that I have not emerged myself enough.