“Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no other aim than the one he sets himself, with no other destiny than the one he forges for himself on this earth.”
-Jean-Paul Sartre
“When I was young, I forgot how to laugh in the cave of Trophonius; when I was older, I opened my eyes and beheld reality, at which I began to laugh, and since then, I have not stopped laughing. I saw that the meaning of life was to secure a livelihood, and that its goal was to attain a high position; that love’s rich dream was marriage with an heiress; that friendship’s blessing was help in financial difficulties; that wisdom was what the majority assumed it to be; that enthusiasm consisted in making a speech; that it was courage to risk the loss of ten dollars; that kindness consisted in saying, “You are welcome,” at the dinner table; that piety consisted in going to communion once a year. This I saw, and I laughed.”
– Soren Kierkegaard
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”
-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Our old kings have fallen on their swords, leaving us with an ungoverned territory to obstruct.
Thus, we wage war upon ideas that we declare into existence so that we have enemies to conquer, justifying an unspecified purpose left intentionally ambiguous for fear of conceding to our endless limitations.
Human nature ensures its citizens cannot escape from the confines of their own limitations, drawing out self conflict until all that is left to command is disenchantment.
We conjure notions of success out of covetous inclinations, only to exist in fear of living without purpose, of never amounting to anything when there is nothing tangible to pursue.
We create success for ourselves out of what we believe will incur the most recognition from those whom we are trying to impress, although we spend a lifetime figuring out who they are and why we give them consequential power over our identity.
What does it mean to succeed?
Does the attainment of an idiosyncratic success allow us to feel a glimpse of fulfillment?
The search for externality continues as we change yet again, forward into time yet ideologically stagnant.
“An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory–this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was myself. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, accidental, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I was conscious that it was connected with the taste of tea and cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could not, indeed, be of the same nature as theirs. Whence did it come? What did it signify? How could I seize upon and define it?”
-Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time
“Unjust laws exist; shall we be content to obey them, or shall we endeavor to amend them, and obey them until we have succeeded, or shall we transgress them at once? Men generally, under such a government as this, think that they ought to wait until they have persuaded the majority to alter them. They think that, if they should resist, the remedy would be worse than the evil. But it is the fault of the government itself that the remedy is worse than the evil. It makes it worse. Why is it not more apt to anticipate and provide for reform? Why does it not cherish its wise minority? Why does it cry and resist before it is hurt? Why does it not encourage its citizens to be on the alert to point out its faults, and do better than it would have them?”
-Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience
The prospect of coincidence, the power of imagination.
The dread of its meaning propagates angst, while the symbolism is mercilessly distorted through Machiavellian avenues into perturbing conviction.
And so the pendulum swings, inevitably back into the place it was supposed to avoid.
The mind could not help it, leaving common sense defeated once again.
It seems that perception fails to surpass denial, as it was denial that inhibited reason from prevailing.
Superstition wraps around the conscience and tangles its web around the delicate interactions maintained in circuitous, convoluted domains.
Apprehension of what remains unknown lingers above as if to summon dark clouds, persuasively shrouding any optimism that endured.
I have found myself trapped inside my head, personifying the delusions.
Unable to discern a means of escape, retiring into defeat, sinking into unease.
So many times convinced that my fears were realized, how do I begin to explain?
As each subsequent chapter of life passes, I find myself unable to recognize my former self, as I guilelessly blend with the circumstances and ensure that there is little substance to sustain the inner values that I like to believe exist but have yet to define.
Reflecting upon experiences and anecdotes from the past, I observe snapshots of the characters I used to portray. I sometimes find similarities, maybe a resemblance I can hold on to for reference when I eventually try to piece myself together and build something that is more than just an amalgamation of those around me and the media I so greedily consume.
What do I value? How do I define a life worth living? As much as I try to make it out to be so, there is nothing complicated about my situation. Simply I am lost.
How do I stop this habit of looking down upon myself? The person I have adapted into surely disproves of the identity I had assumed a few years ago. Would the character I enacted last year find who I am now to be compelling? Would my past counterparts look at the most current version in awe or with disdain? Would that individual even notice this one in a chance encounter?
I used to long for the stability I now enjoy, yet the ease at which it comes serves as a trigger for restlessness. Ordinary, forgettable – I live to evade those words yet at times I come to face the fact that nothing I have accomplished has qualified me to graduate onto more illustrious descriptors. How defeated it feels to consent that I am unoriginal.
Maybe this is just another stage of development. In a few years I will likely look down upon the irony and condescend. Would my adaptation in the future be able to empathize or will it merely dismiss the youthful conflict as a circumstantial side effect? Will I reiterate this recurring cycle of attempted self discovery until I one day accept that I am no closer to understanding myself than the first time I asked these questions?
What do you most regret?
What is your greatest fear?
When do you feel the most lonely?
When did it become so difficult to overcome your insecurities?
How can you become a better person?
How can you accept yourself when you do not know what it is that you value?
Why do you rely on the outside world to bring fulfillment?
Why do you let life pass by while hiding behind a screen?
Are you able to love the world when you are convinced that you do not love yourself?
“America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.”
-Allen Ginsberg, America
“Forget everything else. Keep hold of this alone and remember it: Each of us lives only now, this brief instant. The rest has been lived already, or is impossible to see. The span we live is small – small as the corner of the earth in which we live it. Small as even the greatest renown, passed from mouth to mouth by short-lived stick figures, ignorant alike of themselves and those long dead.”
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book Three: In Carnuntum
A Mango a Day 