Hiding In Plain Sight

Hiding in plain sight. An apt description. It's so easy to fall back into old habits, especially when it seems like things are going well for a change. When the tongue loosens and the back is relaxed, and the existential consequences of every conversation dissolve into a shared experience with a lovely, complex person. But the doubt begins to slowly creep back in, taking greater control with each syllable. The Ruler, the tyrant. I forget how to care for myself because I lose sight of who I am. We can discuss the philosophical implications of "who I am," or we can enjoy each other's company. I enjoy both until it becomes a compulsion. Until the question becomes a torturous obsession rather than a thought-provoking riddle. But I love conversation, didn't cha know? I'm not antisocial, I'm social phobic. Is identity not just an accumulation of choices and experiences that define and are defined by natural biological potential and limitations? If this is the case, then every choice plays a role in defining ourselves, and therefore our life? If so, the most influential moments of our lives, are vastly important and must be chosen carefully. Much of that is within our daily social interaction, or lack thereof. Every interaction informs the next one and is informed by the previous one. In this state of mind, time and relationship lose meaning. One interaction is as meaningful as any other. But I know that's not true, of course. I think that's part of Kierkegaard's anxiety. But how come all of that goes away with a shared smile or laugh? How come reciprocal understanding between anyone, especially one you admire, is enough to temporarily solve this anxiety? It's probably more psychological than philosophical. Yes, there are valuable questions here, but they exist in an isolated, introspective mind. I suspect that's true of most philosophers. That is not the natural state of humanity, as they would like us to believe. Maybe it's more of a symptom of loneliness. A socially satisfied mind has no time or care to ponder about these abstractions, maybe. I'm even hesitant to make that declaration because how many greatly intelligent people have had these same sets of questions? If they didn't arrive at my conclusion, why should I trust my own? All I know is what I feel, and though my feelings clash with each other and my morality, I suspect that the answer probably lies in psychology rather than philosophy. Whatever psychological state of mind leads to philosophical, existential questioning. It's probably not a novel idea, but it's probably more useful to use these types of questions as a means of diagnosis. The diagnosis of loneliness. There is value in it, true, in how it encourages out-of-the-box thinking in regards to the human condition, politics, and relationship.

My silence speaks vaguely, and I think in longing. Until I speak to a lover and find what I've been missing.