There are entire stretches of my life I can prove happened but don’t particularly remember living. I went to work. I raised children. I cooked dinners, paid bills, drove thousands of kilometres, attended meetings, bought groceries, remembered birthdays, solved problems and did all the other things that constitute a life when written down on paper. I was there. That’s the strange part. I wasn’t unconscious. I wasn’t wandering around in some fugue state. I was competent. Often extremely competent. I just wasn’t entirely in it. For most of my life, I didn’t know there was a difference. I thought this was adulthood. You get up. You do what needs doing.…