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It’s completely possible to exist for others before we even exist for ourselves.
In a way, this is obvious. For instance, my mother and grandmother have memories of me as an infant, memories of which I am a major part but yet I can’t remember at all.
My grandma, several times, has recalled the first time she held me, and how I looked right into her eyes “as though (I) were thinking.” In contrast, one of my mom’s favorite stories involves a time I threw up in her mouth.
If it weren’t for other people’s memories, I would have no idea that I was alive, existing, staring and vomiting before age 3 or so, when I clearly remember using the potty. I suppose my basic knowledge of biology and counting would lead me to believe I was not born a toddler, endlessly wanting to ride my Big Wheels, and that I had, in fact, been born at age 0, cleverly moving onto age 1 and age 2 before consciousness finally settled in at age 3. But I have no first-hand, experiential evidence.
Clearly, I existed before “I” was there.
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