I'm In My Tree Talking To The Dixie Chicks And They're Making Me Feel Better

I'm having an existential crisis. I'm not quite sure exactly what the qualifications are for such a thing, but I love the term and believe it to be rather open ended. I Heart Huckabees portrays it as such anyway. If you haven't seen that movie yet, drop everything you're doing and go watch it right now, but only if you can appreciate a really weird, funny, fucked up movie. If not, well, you're missing out on some great films.

I think I'm too much like Albert and not enough like the existential detectives. I'm always asking too many questions, like his "if the forms of this world die, which is more real,the me that dies or the me that's infinite? Can I trust my habitual mind or do I need to learn to look beneath those things?" When in actuality, who the fuck cares? Why should this kind of thing matter to me? I'll admit, I haven't really reached that kind of deeper layer of thought. I just don't know who I am or where I fit in, and more than that, I don't know if I need to know these things or if anyone ever knows these things. I often wonder if confidence in oneself can ever be anything more than an act.

Does anyone actually have everything figured out? People pretend like they do, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to smile and pretend along or admit that I have absolutely no idea what's going on. I'm not sure if people really believe they know what they're doing or if they fake it like I do. I'm not sure if believing it is enough. Do I really have more or less of a clue than anyone else? This series of questioning is so stupid, I know, because it only leads to more questions without answers which only leaves me more confused than when I started. Still, I like to think about them.

I used to be able to define myself so well. I was defined by my activities and my relationships. That's who I was, but without those things, does that mean that I am nothing? That's what it feels like now, that without a slew of hobbies and friends, I am without an identity. It's a really horrendous feeling, and worse, one that I don't know how to fix. What defines us? Is there more to life than just activities and relationships? Should there be? This is why so often I find myself dreaming of isolation. Not for my life, mind you, but maybe a few weeks. Even a day would be nice. I would love to be back at Solo, sitting in the middle of the woods completely alone with no distractions, just a pen and a journal. It's really the only way to figure anything out.

Of course, having said that, what I wrote about on Solo was mostly the outside world, my relationships. Also, paradoxically, maybe being the kind of person who longs for answers and isolation is in and of itself, my identity. As Brad says, "How am I not myself?" Is it possible to be someone else or are we always ourselves even taking on a different identity? Isn't that then, part of our identity?

I guess what I don't know is when one is supposed to stop searching for answers, or morever, if one is ever supposed to stop. Are we ever really meant to feel completely satisfied? I feel as though life would become complete stagnant if we were. We would all just settle for satisfaction. We would all just settle for contentment. We would all just settle, but I can't help wondering if that would make us happier. I can't help wondering.

Bernard says "when you get the blanket thing you can relax because everything you could ever want or be you already have and are." I think part of me wants to get the metaphorical blanket thing, but it's really scary to think that I am already complete, that I do in fact have everything I want. That I am in fact everything I want. Shouldn't it feel different? What would be left to think about? I don't think I want that kind of relaxation. I don't want to be sedated with satisfaction. I think all I really want, is to drive myself completely insane. This entry was probably a good start.