Pointers

I never really fully understood how computer memory chips worked. I know the words. That data exists within a location, and the computer keeps track of their addresses to access when needed. These things are called pointers.

So it’s like a neighborhood. Every bit and byte lives in their own house with a house number. And when the computer needs say that one family photo or that one song–it checks the address, goes to that house, and rings the doorbell.

It’s interesting to me because I always just assumed a computer had only data. Only the people who lived in houses.

But this concept told me that a computer is both the residents and a then a very fancy Yellow Pages directory book.

I think traditionally humans were like what I thought a computer. Full of facts and figures and memories like where the bison graze, and who was the tribe leader, and what the trees look like when the air gets cold.

But as we got books and journals and we crammed more things — we had to write all the extra stuff down in piles of paper. Which meant our brains had mostly residents, but now also some pointers to where we placed our books and journals.

As for me, I went too far. Between sketchbooks, books, laptops, and phones–my brain is almost no residents and all pointers. Only the Yellow Pages exist in my head. Which means if you ask me where that one restaurant that we ate at — I have to check my Instagram. If you ask me who was in that movie, I have to google it. If you ask me what my favorite music is, I have to open my music app. If you ask me what my dad’s birthday is, I have to check my calendar.

All pointers to things outside my brain. Incredibly fragile configuration, but at the same time–my brain is completely geared for creation and generation of novel things. I design, I make art, I think and process ideas. All of those things depend on things known, but I don’t need those known things to be in my brain. I only need to know they exist, and I’ll look for them when I need them.

For better or for worse.