peacegroover@deviantart When I writeI find myself reaching— reachingreachingreachingreaching for something. Satisfaction.Accomplishment.Arrival. There is none now. Only words.More words.Another page. PerhapsI still have far to climb. PerhapsI have mistaken a hillfor a mountain. Perhapsthe pinnaclewas never there. Perhaps there is nothere. Only this: the reaching,the climbing,the…
My secret ambition is to become a Cyberpunk Goth Bedazzled Leather Tattooed Muscle Dom Fiend Futch with a sensitive side, a muscle cruiser bike, and cooking skills to wife up a baddie.
My main ambition is to write the Ultimate Sapphic Sci-Fantasy Epic, with gargantuan battles, existential conundrums, gore a la 90s, and pages upon pages of angst-fueled smut.
And yet, we are looking at our Quest Log, a level 1 Human Bard with old joggers, a bowl of lentils, a little paunch, and some horny Caitvi Fic in our back pocket (link here).
So, if you want to watch a lesbian cryptid fumble her way toward muscle-dom and epic storytelling, lurk around.
Many things fascinate me, but do they truly? Or is it just fleeting happiness? Talents, talents... Talents overflow from my pores and flow through my hands, swimming in my mind appreciating every wave, every rising tide. But do I truly accept these talents as my own? Do I transform them into a passion that will make my name resonate? Or do I only partially master them in order to achieve my dream goal?
Passion, passions... Music fascinates me, and historically I am known for my knowledge in that field. But what good is it? What good is knowing the theory without mastering the practice? What good is it if I give up at the slightest setback, all the more boasting that I tried?
My anxieties lurk in the shadows, whispering doubts about the authenticity of what captivates me. Are these flashes of interest mere mirages in the twilight, or true beacons guiding my path?
Talents, like specters, seem to emanate from me, dancing in my mind, but... Do I embrace them completely, give them form and substance so that my name may resonate in eternity? Or do I settle for being a mere architect of their shadows, pursuing an ideal that fades with the light?
Music fascinates me, an echo of bygone eras that resonates in my soul, but... What good is knowing the melody if the score breaks down at the first measure? What good is it if I give up at the slightest adversity, proudly proclaiming that I tried?
At last, perhaps I am destined to be remembered for nothing more than a dream and hopes alien to me, a weary attempt at greatness.
Dear Shining Star, Alright. Friday afternoon. You have made it to the other side of another five days. What do I see from here? You showed up. You responded to emails. Hammered that last nail in place. Endorsed a patient. Resolved an issue of an irate customer. That, despite the fright, you delivered a presentation. Handed in your homework. Reconnected with a long-lost friend. You did more…
About Identity
The question, "How does this serve me?" still assumes that there is a stable "me" whose interests are obvious. But if the ego itself is largely a predictive model constructed through childhood, culture, and experience, then asking what serves "me" may simply mean asking what serves the current identity. That identity may be completely misaligned with the organism. And there it is. What does an eight-year-old know about being a flight attendant?
So perhaps an even deeper question is not, "How does this serve me?" but, "Which part of me is asking this question?" Is it the ambitious executive? The traumatized child? The dutiful daughter? The philosopher? The spiritual seeker? Each will answer differently. Most philosophies ask: what kind of person should I become? We are beginning to ask something prior to that.
"Before I decide who to become, should I commit decades of a finite organism to a prediction made by today's ego?"
That is a radically different question. Because today's ego is making promises on behalf of tomorrow's organism. It signs a forty-year contract. The organism has no signature on the document. The ego makes commitments. The organism pays installments.
This is one of the most important sentences for you: Every ambition should be interrogated before it starts interrogating your life. Be aware of your ambitions now before they rule you unconsciously. An ambition seems harmless when it is an idea. But once it becomes an identity, it begins asking things of you every day. Wake up earlier. Work harder. Ignore the back pain. Skip lunch. Delay seeing friends. Postpone swimming. Answer one more email. Take one more promotion. Little by little, the ambition ceases to be something you have. It becomes something that has you ore something is you because it is already in your nervous system.
It isn't mystical attachment, but a predictive model that gradually acquires the authority to organize decades of a human organism's existence. That is why examining an ambition early is so important. Once it becomes an identity, it no longer merely predicts your future. It begins constructing it.
Overheating the Processor: Pre-Written Lives and the Hardware of Existence
The book's author describes his goal as writing a new philosophical book. But since he already has a rough idea of how to deal with the ego, he ponders this plan. He asks an important question: how will this serve ME? And here he's already caught himself in a trap. He criticizes other ordinary ambitions, but he still asks; How does this serve me?
The problem is that the word "me" is doing all the work. Who is this "me"?The businessman? The philosopher? The pessimist? The seeker preparing for death? He has abandoned one identity only to adopt another. The mechanism of identification remains intact.
People do not merely have ambitions. They pre-write a life. That's what ambitions is. At twelve: I'll be a doctor. At sixteen: I'll become an engineer. At twenty: 'll have children. At twenty-five: I'll buy a house. At thirty: I'll pay off the mortgage. At sixty-five, I'll retire and go fishing everyday.
Notice what has happened. The organism has not yet lived these decades. The ego has. The ego has already occupied forty or fifty future years with a narrative. That is astonishing when you think about it. A child predicts an entire lifetime before they have experienced even a quarter of it. And society applauds this. No one asks: Why are you planning forty years ahead as though your future organism has already agreed? Instead they ask: What career have you chosen? When are you buying a house? When are you having children? When are you retiring? The assumption is simply that the organism will cooperate.
Let's compare ourselves to a laptop. Most people treat the organism like hardware. The important thing is the software. The project. The career. The identity. The achievement. As long as Photoshop runs, who cares how hot the processor gets? Until one day the processor overheats. Then suddenly everyone notices the hardware. That is exactly how many people relate to their own bodies. They notice the organism only when it can no longer execute the ego's program.
Society applauds the child who predicts an entire lifetime, forgetting that the ego has already occupied decades of future years before the organism has even had a chance to live them.
