I suspect my dad prevented this glitch from forming in my young mind. When I was a child, one of his favorite ways to tease me was to stand over me, and demand that I float in the air. He’d raise his hands over my head and pull them up, all the while saying “float! float in the air!” Of course I’d laugh, and I knew it was impossible, but I’d still try I’d strain, and rise up on my toes, and jump up and down, but I couldn’t do it. Then he’d shake his head, and admonish that I’d better learn soon, because it would be too difficult to learn when I was “old and fat” like him.
The part of my brain that knew it was impossible would laugh, but a part of my brain would still try with all it’s might to float, and quickly learned that it’s impossible. Flying dreams are pretty difficult for me, now. I still find myself straining the way I did when my Dad commanded me to float.
A few years back, I had an incredibly vivid dream that seemed to be real. One of the characters in the dream informed me that my whole life had been a dream, and I didn’t believe her. We got in an argument, where I pointed out how vivid and detailed my surroundings were, how vivid and detailed my memories of growing up in California were, and how unlikely it was that a character in my own dream would disagree with me. The character challenged me to try to open my eyes, and I did, confident that they were already open. I opened my eyes, and it was 3:00 in the morning in my little apartment in Texas. I have never even been to California. My entire life had been a dream, and a small fragment of my subconscious had known it was a dream when I had not. I was a solipsist for the rest of the week.