Daniel Frumkin

Gave this speech at Toastmasters Aphantasia Speech . THE WAY I SEE IT ACT I: THE DISCOVERY (Tone: Casual, conversational.) I was visiting my friend Ranon. He was laughing, looking up from an article in Nature magazine. He’d just discovered something about how he understands the world—something about how he doesn’t "see" things in his mind. I asked him what he meant. He said, "Well, most people have a 'mind’s eye.' Close your eyes and imagine an apple. Do you see it? I looked into the darkness of my eyelids and said, "I just see blackness." Ranon stopped laughing. He looked at me, stunned. "No, you should see an apple. Red, or shiny, or at least an outline." I looked back at him, bewildered. "Ranon, what are you talking about? It’s pitch black in here." He whispered, "Oh my God. You’re one of us. You have aphantasia.” And I both shouted and whispered, “What the actual…” ACT II: THE THEATER (Tone: Faster, higher energy.) For three days, I thought he was trolling me. I thought the entire internet was trolling me! Who knew there was a condition called aphantasia where you didn’t have a minds eye? I didn’t even know there was a minds eye? I thought back to elementary school. The teachers would say, "Imagine you’re walking down a garden path with big trees full of dropping their autumn leaves." I’d listen to the words, nod, and wait for the point. They were being visual and I was being literal. There was going to be a point, right? But no—96% of the class was actually seeing the path. They were seeing deciduous trees in fallow, or a gravel path. For me, I didn’t see trees; I was just following the words and doing my best to keep up. I didn't know anyone else had a different reality. I wasn't just missing the movie; I didn't even know there was a theater. ACT III: THE WORKBENCH (Tone: Methodical, rhythmic.) Where you might have a projector, I have a workbench. I don’t see the surface of a finished story; I assemble the framework. Because these i see the trees and not the forest, I have to be deliberate about building stories. I don’t have a video reel to create or watch in my head. Just assembly of facts and memories of facts. Take facial memory. I always wondered how police sketch artists actually worked. They’d ask a witness to "describe" a person. For me, that would be a clinical exercise in data collection: skin tone, nose angle, hair line, ear shape. I don't "see" the face in my mind to hold it there; that couldn’t possibly be real, right? Everything is like blueprint me, while everyone else is seeing a photograph. I have to click those pieces into place like Lego bricks just to understand the shape of the world. But a workbench can only hold so many bricks before it becomes a mess. I can’t just 'store' a high-definition image of the Lego Death Star; I have to understand the mechanics of the assembly. I’m looking for the structural pattern—the DNA of the information—that dictates how everything else must connect. ACT IV: THE DISTILLATION (Tone: Confident, insightful.) This is my specific advantage. Everything must build on a core structure There is a specific advantage to this technique: It requires me to deliberately structure my reality. Everything must build on something else. There is no visual memory to just jump to in order to catch up. I honestly lose my car in the marking lot nearly every morning unless I point to the car and say, “P2 to the left as I leave the elevator lobby “ I’m like the guy in the old joke who has to study for a massive exam. He boils a page of notes down to a paragraph. Then a sentence. Then a word. Finally, he boils the entire subject down to a single letter on a cheat sheet. Oh, that’s not the joke, that’s the set up. The joke ends… His friend asks, "How did the test go?" He says, "I failed." "Why?" "I forgot the letter." That’s how I process information. I distill complex, messy data until it’s a single philosophy or concept I can click into my framework. If a new piece of info doesn’t fit the concept, I stop. I figure out why. If it’s resonates with me, I will my entire worldview to accommodate the new information. If it doesn't fit? I throw it away. I find the patterns others miss because they are often too busy looking at the forest to see the trees, while I’m busy thinking about how the roots are connected. ACT V: THE HORIZON (Tone: Warm, grounded, and reflective.) So what’s next for me? At 38... no, 48... no, actually 58 years old, I’m just now learning that my experience is... different. I’ve spent nearly six decades navigating a world I didn't realize I was perceiving differently from both literally and actually everyone else. My memory is fine, but I don't "relive" it. I reconstruct it, brick by brick. I’ve adapted. I bought a digital picture frame so I can actually see faces to remind me of moments. I’m being more deliberate about interpersonal connections because just ”being” isn’t as connecting for me as it is for other folks. I don’t have "memory videos" to catch me up on relationships and happenings. Also, I’m trying to say "Sure" to things—trusting that there is a forest even if I can’t see past the trees. Funny thing about finally finding a name for my worldview... nothing has changed, and everything has changed. And Scene.