Monday 30 July 2018

Just an atavism really

I almost never come here now. There was a time, oh, a very long time, when this was my lifeline to my eroding self. Now, the forces of distortion are long gone and with it, the need for some kind of assertion of my own will and character.
You hear people say:"I know people think I am a bitch/bastard, but on the inside, I am actually quite nice!"
This is to miss a central truth about identity: We are what we appear to be to others. As far as the world is concerned, what lies within is of no consequence if the external manifestation of a personality is a bitch or bastard. That is what we all experience.
And so, were we to be on a desert island, alone, could we be said to be an extrovert? A kindly soul? Mean-spirited? It doesn't seem so. Perhaps we could be determined or a defeatist. We could struggle valiantly against the odds, or lie down and die. Is that character, personality?
Perhaps our character is then to some extent our own experience of ourselves, at least in properties which are not social attributes.

So, maybe that is what this was: A reassurance that regardless of how external forces try to shape one, personal opinions can remain beyond the reach of others. Knuckling down day-to-day need not mean losing sight of what makes us who we are. We can "secretly" be who we actually are, only ironically of course in a public realm.

Well, I have no need of that now. There are no forces of correction to divert me to a path not of my choosing or contort me to fit the expectations of another. I have no employer (which is not without its own worries) to watch my every keystroke for dissent.

Perhaps then, i have no need of this, being able to "be myself" in the entirety of my "new" life.
But... Oh... this is so difficult! So out of practise have I become that my prose won't flow. It sticks and falters and the results are not as i would have wished. Short of the odd, admittedly verbose, paragraphs in my facbook statuses, I never write now. And that seems a shame.

So, that tells me I need to resume writing. If not here, then elsewhere. Probably not here actually: Too much painful history, though I do enjoy reading back the more whimsical entries. But somewhere. And since this isn't a desert island, personality may be retained.
Ahh, nobody reads this anyway so the pressure is not on. But they might, and so standards must be maintained. And that's the value - rigour.

Where to then? I am not sure. Somewhere because writing this was a real exertion and it shouldn't be. Somewhere else then. Yes. A new start. That feels good. Another one.