As of recent, I’ve been thinking a lot about self. When bad things happen, I often lose myself. I am preoccupied by fear. Too burdened by survival to live. But once I begin to slow, once I regain control, another concern takes hold. A fear of self. The weight of being. I am prone to existentialism. At questioning what I am, why I am, and who I am outside of what has happened to me. If there is a me outside of simply a consciousness grown on experience and circumstance. I’m not much of a believer. I don’t think I or any of this was intentional. My ability to write, to live, and to consider is all an effect of evolution. The burden of consciousness, simply accidental.
Normally, this weighs on me, to the extent that sometimes I miss the fear. When I am afraid I am not burdened by this weight. This unanswerable weight. So I am going to try to combat this as well. To try to find myself outside of what has happened to me, outside of the rules of the time. Try to figure if there is anything under that. I think some time away would be good. Not too long. I won’t entirely shun my duties; I’ll write in preparation, and have my roommate post for me. But I think I need to spend some time away, with nature and crisper air, to begin to interrogate these questions. To find an I. Because there is something here, there has to be, and I imagine if I developed in the vacuum of space, there would still be an I. I hope there would. That no matter when, no matter where, we would all be derived from some core, all some version of I. Something below circumstance. And if not. If there is no I, I’ll find peace with that as well.