This is so awkward.
I am sitting on the bus that has been transporting me from my parent’s sleepy suburban home to work in downtown for the last four months, surrounded by other people that are—probably—also en route to pursuing some everyday activity. In a public place like this, I feel like my every keystroke is being registered by some other entity, the very words dictated to this text editor scrutinized by some judgmental being peering over my shoulder. In reality, the girl sitting beside me has her eyes glued to her Instagram feed on an iPhone 6, the year is 2015, Fidel Castro is still alive and the only sound in vicinity is the engine’s low hum.
As humans, we bear rich inner lives teeming with fears, ideas, thoughts and daydreams, most of which generated by the ego. We let this voice in our head guides us through actions, nudging us to sidestep social boundaries and colour within the lines. When we are interacting with others, we also project our version of internal life onto them. All this work being done by the ego is evolutionarily important and functions to bring stability into our lives, as discussed in Jacques Lacan’s work on the “other”:
… when relating to others as alter-egos, one does so on the basis of what one “imagines” about them (often imagining them to be “like me,” to share a set of lowest-common-denominator thoughts, feelings, and inclinations making them comprehensible to me). These transference-style imaginings are fictions taming and domesticating the mysterious, unsettling foreignness of one’s conspecifics, thereby rendering social life tolerable and navigable.
In the process of developing such imaginings, however, the ego also projects our neuroses onto others and distorts our perceptions of reality, making us feel like the whole world is pointing fingers when we accidentally run a red light and rendering the feeling of being judged unbearable.
I have built and teared down blogs several times as a result of my unforgiving ego. In the constant tug of war between this is not good and this is kind of okay, the winner has always been the more cynical of the two. This is my first attempt at starting a blog with the intention of not tearing it down, no matter how much an older me may cringe at these words upon reconsideration.
To the voice in my head,
f**k it ship it.