There's a strong argument that we don't know ourselves. I have a name, like you. I can recite it but that would add nothing to our little monologue here, would it? I have things about myself that would differentiate me from others, but I'm not sure if that's what counts as being the characteristics that make up my person.
Is it our mistakes? I'm sure that was said somewhere by someone at some point in time's history. It is not what we do that defines us, it's the mistakes we make and how we pick ourselves up that make us the person we strive to be.
Oh what am I going for here? You have to know your limits when it comes to writing. I believe failings can be beneficial if you can take them as such and move on. I used to try writing about impossibilities. Not exactly. I liked to put myself in a literary tangle and try to escape from it in the same universe. I imagine that's what Douglas Adams enjoyed doing. He was probably the most eloquent escape artist I've ever read.
The case of his death is not mine to tread over. Why should I allow myself to messy up something that was someone else's ? I can't imagine for a second what his wife went through, I can't imagine the true nature of death itself. Douglas Adams wasn't the focus of this post. Nor was death. But thoughts like to creep in, they like to settle down on something they were not meant for. Sometimes our best works come from the accidental interconnectedness of all our stray thoughts.
I consider again the art of being yourself. I don't know quite what that means. Do you draw up on all of the hobbies that you partake in, all of the deeply held views and opinions you carry, and the past experiences you have had, and pull them all together, knead them into a dough and bake a cake you call Myself?
I don't believe in boring people, but I believe in both Incompatibles and Unawares. I still call certain people boring, because it slips off the tongue like a spiritual marble. But what we all mean is one of the above. Either their views will not work alongside yours, therefore the former. Otherwise these people are not fully formed in themselves and you simply cannot find anything to latch onto. They often seem bland. I often think of myself as an Unaware. I surely have a lot to say, but nothing seems to stray farther than a few bookish remarks. I think about strangers and I don't know where to begin.
There was one night in a pub in Pitlochry I was speaking to a German girl whose name was Marie (if my memory serves), and I found myself getting bored of myself. I could not strike up anything quite so interesting and meaningful as I'd have liked. We talked of differences of countries and her travels and I simply felt very 'small town'. Where are my stories? Where are those revelations of life that spark a tale to entice even outsiders to listen in? I guess I want to be someone I am not. It was a lovely evening, and she was beautifully interesting, but I guess in my ego-centric ways I still wanted to be more to her and others.
So here we are, looking at what a person is. Palahniuk says, and I assume this is an Eastern Philosophic paraphrasing, "It's only after we've lost everything that we are free to do anything." So self-destruction is one way to begin afresh. But I don't want to start again, I just want to chisel away at the block I am right now. But what is it to be anything? Why do I want any of this? Surely we just want to be what we are, then we are already achieving our goal - a noble way to be.
Sometimes it is just easy to want what's outside of your reach. That way there is no reason to try, and more reason to moan about it.
This reminds me of the man who wanted to live for ever. He would never know until he didn't die.
No comments:
Post a Comment