I am reading a book called I Am a Strange Loop by Douglas Hofstadter. I am only halfway through, but it has been an enlightening journey so far. Interestingly, this book wasn’t my initial pick; ChatGPT had suggested Hofstadter’s Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid as a challenging read for those with unlimited time (which I do not have). However, the title I Am a Strange Loop immediately caught my attention and seemed aligned with what I was seeking.
What I enjoy most about Hofstadter’s writing is his deliberate method of building a way of reasoning from the ground up. He employs honest, straightforward language paired with relatable examples—though some of his more intricate explanations admittedly go over my head. The subject matter resonates with me deeply, and I suspect I will write several pieces inspired by this book as I continue to process and integrate its ideas into my own understanding. Its attention to detail underscores areas where my own perspectives could benefit from greater clarity and intentionality.
One concept in the book—scattered throughout its chapters—is the distinction between simpler and more complex souls. To explain, I will use the analogy of a calculator versus a computer. A calculator is a simple machine, built for one primary purpose. A computer, by contrast, is designed to perform multiple functions or adapt to new ones. Modern smartphones, for instance, function as cameras, websites, calculators, telephones, fitness trackers, and more. This analogy sparked a whirlwind of thoughts for me—thoughts I will attempt to articulate here.
Biological Processes and Identity
I want to explore how we identify with biological processes—those foundational needs and functions that propel us as humans, such as gender, sex, and eating. To ground this exploration, I will share a personal, vulnerable example that serves as a microcosm for all biological processes: breastfeeding.
A Personal Backstory
When I was younger, the thought of getting pregnant filled me with dread. I saw motherhood as an all-consuming commitment—a drain on time, resources, and mental energy. My head was too busy for such responsibilities, and the mere possibility of pregnancy felt like an oppressive weight. Over time, however, my perspective shifted. After completing school, buying a house, and spending years exploring my own reflective thoughts, I reached a point of readiness. I recall sitting outside my house, watching my dog and cat in the yard, and envisioning my future children playing under the tree. That vision brought clarity. I walked inside and told my husband I was ready to have kids. He was initially shocked but came to the same decision a few months later—a slower process, but no less meaningful.
The Experience of Breastfeeding
When our first child was born, everything seemed perfect. She was healthy, and we were grateful new parents. Then came breastfeeding—a fascinating yet challenging biological process. My baby instinctively knew what to do, but for me, the mechanics felt awkward and unfamiliar. Although I had a general idea, it was as if I lacked the necessary instincts. Fortunately, a lactation consultant at the hospital provided invaluable guidance. With precise adjustments, she positioned my arms and demonstrated the best way to support the baby. It was almost as though she were programming a machine—training me for this vital function.
After she left, I remarked, “Wow, that was super helpful.” My husband, however, responded, “Why? Why do you need her? Why don’t you just know?”
There were a few ways this conversation could go. First, I just wanted to pay attention to my new baby, and he goes and says that. So, I really can’t leave that unanswered, so I had to delve down into the reasons I would not know. I told him I wasn’t giving birth in the middle of the woods with the child having a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. I was in a cozy hospital bed. He kept pressing and pressing for better answers, and I just wanted him to shut up.
His question lingered. At the time, I was too focused on my baby to delve deeply into it, but now, 11 years later, I appreciate its complexity. Why did my baby know what to do instinctively while I, as an adult, required guidance? The answer lies in the calculator-versus-computer analogy. My baby was like a calculator—wired for this singular, innate purpose. I, on the other hand, am a complex computer with countless learned functions. Reducing me, or any woman, to a single biological function is not only reductive but dehumanizing.
Another factor is exposure. I had never observed another woman breastfeeding—at least not closely enough to learn. I avert my eyes when I see women breastfeeding, I don’t go up to them and stare directly at the process until I learn how it’s done. Like kittens that fail to learn hunting if they never see their mother catch a mouse, I lacked a visual reference. This thought makes me question how close humans remain to our natural instincts and how much we rely on cultural transmission for skills. Over time, cultural factors can either preserve instincts by passing down traditions or erode them through a lack of shared experience and exposure. The balance between instinct and cultural evolution appears delicate, with each shaping how we learn and adapt.
Revisiting the Question
I recently asked my husband if he remembered posing that question in the hospital. Unsurprisingly, he did not. He was happy as can be, when 6 weeks later I decided I couldn’t face a breast pump, and we went to formula feeding. I was formula fed and I turned out ok. Seeing the connection with him and his daughter as he fed her was priceless.
What I’ve realized, however, is that his question opened a mental feedback loop—one that spanned over a decade. Was it solely his question, or was it also my own internal curiosity? Maybe he was voicing what I was too preoccupied to think about at the moment; it was exactly the kind of question I would ask, not him. Perhaps it was a question of the collective, one that transcends individual experiences. How much of our complexity as humans stems from this interplay of instincts, learned behaviors, and cultural evolution?
From Calculators to Complex Machines
As individuals and as a society, we are becoming increasingly complex. We move further and further away from the simplicity of our “baby calculators” and embrace the multi-functionality of “computers.” Yet, amidst this complexity, it is vital to remain connected to our foundational instincts. These instincts ground us, reminding us of our humanity and the shared biological processes that unite us.
The lactation consultant’s role exemplified the beauty of combining instinct with learned expertise. Her guidance created a physical and mental feedback loop that not only enhanced my understanding of breastfeeding but also reinforced my connection to my child. A key aspect of her expertise was its adaptability to the context and uniqueness of the individual. She understood that needs and situations vary widely, and her approach reflected this understanding; and ultimately its up to the individual to integrate her advice.
To move forward, we must respect and honor our traditional roles and the biological and cultural history that can shape and guide us. This reverence should stand equal to our recognition of individual uniqueness and the complexity of our multi-functional minds. By holding both in balance and appreciating how context and individuality influence our experiences, such as through the tailored expertise of a lactation consultant, we can truly embrace the dynamic coexistence of simplicity and complexity that defines us—a strange loop, indeed.