I Think About Life
"We give ourselves trimmings of a myth and believe that myth as devoutly as any religious person believes their dogma. We are all in our own minds, misunderstood prophets, unappreciated visionaries, defiant rebels or a number of archetypal heros.
Identity is not, I think a matter of our thoughts and ideas alone. Nor is it simply a culmination of our talents, opinions and idiosyncrasies. Identity is an illusion that our lives have a storyline and who we are can be found in what we've been through."
Our lives are meandering and plotless and even though they contain stories, they are not stories within themselves. Any semblance of order in our pasts - the notion that every event is linked in some fatalistic way to every preceding and following event is manufactured by our consciousness."
- TJ Kirk
I was reading this today and I was thinking about this, I've come across this idea of the illusion of 'self' in other books too. It got me thinking about my own life and my own attraction towards storytelling. When I sit down and write, I can create entire places, people, world's out of my imagination. I can create a world that makes sense, that's filled with meaning, purpose, goals, people make sense and they grow and change, theres a clear path and trajectory of life and always a lesson learned. I think we are all storytellers for a similar reason, we want the world to make sense, to be filled with meaning and hope... we can find this in stories... when we escape in a good book or film and connect to them and a part of who we are within them... and I believe that a part of who we are, even if illusionary can be found in the need to create meaning from the meaningless... meaning only comes from us, I don't see this as a bad thing, it's actually quite beautiful thinking about it. The excerpt above raises all sorts of existential questions and probably feelings... If the self is illusion and your identity fabricated by an inner need for purpose, meaning... then how can we truly know who we are and where we fit into this chaotic life? Not only can anyone never fully understand us but can we even understand ourselves?
No one can be close to any kind of objectivity about anyone or anything, so where would one go from there?
For me I don't feel too affected by the idea that my self comes from the stories I tell myself and give meaning to, I think even if they aren't the most accurate picrure, there is a "me" that longed for some kind of meaning, logic to the randomness...
What are your thoughts?
Identity is not, I think a matter of our thoughts and ideas alone. Nor is it simply a culmination of our talents, opinions and idiosyncrasies. Identity is an illusion that our lives have a storyline and who we are can be found in what we've been through."
Our lives are meandering and plotless and even though they contain stories, they are not stories within themselves. Any semblance of order in our pasts - the notion that every event is linked in some fatalistic way to every preceding and following event is manufactured by our consciousness."
- TJ Kirk
I was reading this today and I was thinking about this, I've come across this idea of the illusion of 'self' in other books too. It got me thinking about my own life and my own attraction towards storytelling. When I sit down and write, I can create entire places, people, world's out of my imagination. I can create a world that makes sense, that's filled with meaning, purpose, goals, people make sense and they grow and change, theres a clear path and trajectory of life and always a lesson learned. I think we are all storytellers for a similar reason, we want the world to make sense, to be filled with meaning and hope... we can find this in stories... when we escape in a good book or film and connect to them and a part of who we are within them... and I believe that a part of who we are, even if illusionary can be found in the need to create meaning from the meaningless... meaning only comes from us, I don't see this as a bad thing, it's actually quite beautiful thinking about it. The excerpt above raises all sorts of existential questions and probably feelings... If the self is illusion and your identity fabricated by an inner need for purpose, meaning... then how can we truly know who we are and where we fit into this chaotic life? Not only can anyone never fully understand us but can we even understand ourselves?
No one can be close to any kind of objectivity about anyone or anything, so where would one go from there?
For me I don't feel too affected by the idea that my self comes from the stories I tell myself and give meaning to, I think even if they aren't the most accurate picrure, there is a "me" that longed for some kind of meaning, logic to the randomness...
What are your thoughts?
26-30, F
