Clever? The title is sarcastic, obviously. If I'm so clever, how is it possible to have been on this planet for 45 years, and still not know who the hell I am? And what I mean by that is that I don't feel I have any substance or essence whatsoever. What is my purpose? What am I doing here? I've always felt like a misfit, like I've never quite fit in with this world. I suppose that's not so rare. If you happen to believe the tenets of existentialism, and that we are thrown into this world without a purpose, then what I'm feeling is perfectly normal. That doesn't make it any less stultifying, though. And I still feel like a moron.
You know what my biggest problem has been? Wanting to know everything. And as a result, I don't have enough knowledge in a single subject or topic on which I could carry on a meaningful conversation with someone. I've never been able to settle on anything long enough to be able to get the gist out of it. Something else will come along and seize my interest, and I've already moved on.
I remember reading one of Seneca's letters to his little friend. In it, Seneca dissuades him from trying to read a bunch of different authors in the attempt to be well-rounded, and encourages him instead to pick just one good writer, and read and re-read and really get to know and fully understand his thoughts and ideas.
Me? I've got a whole library full of books I haven't even read yet. You can just check them out on my librarything.com app to the right, and see just how spastic and unattainable my desired breadth of knowledge has been.
Well, I've finally had enough. I've decided it's time to re-engineer myself. I should've done this years ago, but fuck it; better late than never, right? I've been doing some self-examining today, and am going to force myself to focus my concentration on a few select subjects/interests. What these particular subjects are, I'll save for another post. Suffice it to say, I've picked them.
Obviously, I'm writing all of this for myself. It feels good to get it out of my head, write it down, and see it in print: my alternative to therapy. It only took me one session with a psychologist years ago to know that no matter what problems or obstacles I happened to be dealing with, going to a shrink to try to solve them was not an option for me. But if any of the multitude of the three people who might happen to check in on my inane ramblings once in a while would like to leave a comment, feel free. I'm still surprised when anyone shows any interest in anything I have to say.
That's it for now.