(no subject)
I read something recently about the suffocating nature of endless choice. How freedom can be stifling. In its insecurity. The feeling of "should I be doing something different?" And the impossibility of answering the question, "what should I do?"
A former me would've found this horseshit. How can choice be bad? Yet I've seen a world more proscribed, and I must admit it seemed less mired in ambivalence and confusion. Without identity crisis. Wouldn't that be nice?
But. I have learned. I am who I am. Even if that is not who I would be. Or how I would be. I've tried to change myself, but the changes that happen are not from my own design. I'm beginning to understand the ancient Greek preoccupation with destiny and free will.
A former me would've found this horseshit. How can choice be bad? Yet I've seen a world more proscribed, and I must admit it seemed less mired in ambivalence and confusion. Without identity crisis. Wouldn't that be nice?
But. I have learned. I am who I am. Even if that is not who I would be. Or how I would be. I've tried to change myself, but the changes that happen are not from my own design. I'm beginning to understand the ancient Greek preoccupation with destiny and free will.