Fair warning: I think I have something to say. I haven’t sussed out explicitly what it is.
It all boils down to thoughts. It all boils down to the thoughts right now. Any discussion of reality that ignores what you actually think in this ever present moment just misses the point. It seems that the degree to which we respect and acknowledge the thoughts, right now, is our subjective conception of character. Whether we choose to act on them, is the story we lay out for others to tell of our character.
I feel trapped in a fundamental and inescapable duality. It is something I describe as A Game that I have simply no luck in explaining to people who aren’t playing the same one I am. The more I conceive of the conditions of the game, the more doubtful I am of the premise. As in, when I say my group of friends is the example, the projection onto the world at large, the more I feel I’m exploring my place amongst them over their general characteristics.
I may have an impossibly terrible conception of self. If only the logical conclusions are to be drawn from semantics and relative subjective experience are to be respected, the foundation of some personally responsible being with traits x, y, and z might as well be a fart you try to catch and paint blue. By all accounts of my “rational” and ever meager grasp on things, I’m fundamentally irrational. I’m inert material that can spontaneously explode. I’m presumably at the will of everything that’s come before.
One of the few things I trust is change. I don’t buy for a minute any strongly held opinion about anything given the right conditions to change it. In a small minded way this translates to “not caring.” It’s not a frustration or an inability to cope with the world that makes me want to throw my arms up. It’s not an utter disregard for “you” or how we may relate. I think this serves a dual purpose. One, it insulates me from taking undue advantage. Two, it allows me the “eh” elbow room conceptualize various judgments and behavior.
I don’t think this is how most people operate. I think, to the greater extent, people are self-conscious. I don’t want to undersell my conception of self-conscious. The anxiety and doubt associate with me me me is a vein. The prospective future you think you’ll acquire. It’s the endless fear that you’ll do something that’s so “beyond” what you feel capable of conceiving yourself doing. It’s a contingent existence. Given my x understanding of things and c constraints I can plot my life along y. It hinges you to the levels of distraction or comfort. It’s what you lament when you’re forced to deal with life after a tragic event.
Yet, it’s what we’re all reduced to as a default. To be pragmatically free is an exercise of will and disregard that, beyond the implications of destabilizing the system at large, could ironically preempt an expression of pure instability. And we humans need structure. Sooner or later you’re not really free to be a functioning heroin addict.
I suppose I want more people involved. When I speak of the game, I alienate. When I test waters, I make people angry. When I flirt with “truth” I feel marginally immoral and don’t respect myself. Of the many ways I can take advantage, I haven’t learned the secret of getting people the clue. I can’t tune them to a frequency. I can play, dance, scheme, and utterly shape the environment, sure. But an implicit understanding and connection may well be a fairy tale.
I don’t really know what to do beyond keep playing. The best and worst service I do to myself is to regard my actions as, hopefully and at the very least, mostly nondestructive. Will my boredom and disregard win out against my odd and potentially naïve views about respect? For anyone paying attention, the answer should be obvious.
