Reasons, Seasons, Lifetimes

Oh so that’s what existentialism is.

Hmm…yeah, ok, I’ll go with that.

So, on Sunday Lexy, FJ and the Jellicle all claimed I was being existential so today, having a small amount of time at work I looked up what existentialism actually is. I wouldn’t say I was an existentialist, but a great deal of my philosophy on life does have existential bits in it. The notion that I define my own life and my own existence, for example, has been a basic part of my life philosophy since I decided what I wanted to do with my life.

People are very fond of asking me why I do things lately it seems. Everytime they do I’m reminded of something some professional said to me as a kid which was that normal people don’t really know why they do things, (it may have been why they feel things…as time passes I get less and less certain about my memories) they just make up things afterwards that seem right.

So, aged eleven or twelve I figured out who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be and I’ve pretty much stuck to my guns on that one. I did manage to become who I wanted to be, except that I buckle under stress and I find characteristics I recognise from my parents seep their way out. I suppose that’s why I believe people have more control over themselves and their reactions than is commonly assumed. Not nearly as total as I would like though, although maybe that’s a fault of my own, effort only to a certain point and then no further. Life is full of choices and some are easier than others. Anything can become your life, and through it yourself. We just choose who we are and who we want to be and we stick with it until it’s so, some people do it though without much interaction from their conscious minds mostly.

I decided at ten that I wanted to have many lovers, gods know why, I can’t believe I was quite that in touch with my libido that early on. I think I just saw it as a way of really getting to know a lot of people, enough to properly write. Writing depends on life experience nad of a certain sort I seem to be doing ok.
I decided I wanted to travel, TEFLing seemed the easiest way of doing that, I’ve never been much of a one for ‘nesting’, creating homes, except that these last couple of years I really tried with that one and, whilst I would still not describe myself as a ‘nester’ I am enjoying living in an area. I still don’t get the British idea of what’s close and what’s not…I weirdly enough find myself much closer to an American in that respect.
I decided that I didn’t want to have kids, they’d take up too much time and I wouldn’t be able to get enought writing done.
Weirdly enough I don’t recall ever making the decision that I would write. It was a given, that’s one of the reasons I found it slightly bizarre that all the friends I made at university (who weren’t involved in Writers Guild) would assume I wasn’t trying to become a writer.

These last couple of years things have flipped up, backwards and onto their sides as far as my life plans have gone.

I still want lovers. I am interested in people and I maintain that sex gives you a very singular perspective on someone. Sure, maybe I do just scrape the surface of my lovers, but I rarely don’t make friends with them, or don’t stay friends with them if I was already. I’ve no real desire fo anyone in particular…well maybe someone, but she’s not so interested or around.
These last couple of years have knocked sideways my every notion of what sort of relationship I could deal with, even if I was capable of making longterm commitments. There are some situations I can see myself in, in terms of longtermness that would mean I was happy to lack lovers. I’m no longer in such a situation and for the moment it looks as if I won’t be anytime soon.

I still want to travel, but I want a home to come back to, if that home is purely the Jellicle then that works nicely but I’d like to have something physical as well. I want to travel with other people, that’s definately new. I’m still largely self-sufficient but I have a greater appreciation for other people within my life and having them stay there.
Actually lately it’s gone beyond appreciation and has become a bit wierd and almost needy, I don’t like that so much. But then what was home this time last year isn’t home anymore and I’m locating my identity gradually further outside myself than I noticed.

So who am I?

A quester for the Holy Grail, Witch-Queen of the North.
A writer. Always a writer.

Not so much has changed. Only love really, my relationship with her. It’s always worth it. Every ending cannot destroy any beginning. Every moment existing in glorious shining technicolour. How often have I left in order to continue being myself? A lot. How often have I attempted compromise, compromising my sense of self in order to continue love? Rarely, but it leaves incredibly deep marks. I’d say that compromising identity has to be done unasked to be worth it.

Still a Mish. Still got a direction. Fuck this shit, I am making it come hell or highwater.

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