Am I defined by me?

Or am I defined by significant others?

Or am I defined by all others?

Or am I defined by how I want others to define me?

Or am I perhaps undefined until all others and/or significant others are able to compile a composite account of how I lived and how I died?

What if there are no significant—(depending upon one’s definition of significant)—others left to account for me? What if I am the last one? Would this mean that I should live my Life and die my Death according to how I believe others would define me? Or because there are no others to account for me, (or because those who may account for me will soon enough forget), should I define myself?

I believe many (and perhaps most) believe that one should define oneself. But is that reality? If you believe one should define oneself, do you, in each moment, define yourself with little or no regard (beyond simple civility) for those around you? Are you truly not concerned with what they may be thinking? Or how they may be judging? I believe this is unrealistic because it is difficult to separate judgement from definition; especially in the moment. I believe definition is more definite than judgement but I understand how heavy-handed or consensus judgement can strongly influence (and even become) definition.

I lean towards the belief that one is ultimately defined by oneself but not the self as consciously presented to others; not even the more authentic self as presented to significant others; and not even the self as presented in the quietest of moments alone. I think I believe that one is defined by the self that defines reality outside of oneself. Last week I described reality as a massive writhing contortion beneath a veil of everything-will-be-okay. I am saying that I am not how I am seen, I am how I see. To define myself I cannot see myself (through my eyes or through the eyes of others), I must instead objectively see how I see. What am I looking at? And why? Where is my focus? When is my focus?

For me, this means:
I am skepticism.
I am sadness.
I am serious thought.
I am cynicism.
I am active hope.
I am sincerity.
I am anger.
I am uncertainty.

I would rather be this than quiescence. And pretense. And overriding fear. I think those are the broad strokes.

I do realize though that in a given moment I may be quiescence and/or pretense and/or fear; but beneath these momentary reactions I still see reality as a massive writhing contortion.

I also realize that many (and perhaps most) see quiescence and pretense and fear as hope and happiness and certainty. This is not realistic. Lift the veil and you will see quiescence and pretense and fear grotesquely undulating very near the surface – This is the Reality. Yet if we dare look, many (and perhaps most) of us quickly cover it up.

And perhaps that is okay because perhaps, given our animal nature, it is unavoidable. But if this is the case, why do we pretend to be forward-thinking caretakers? I believe we pretend because we aspire. I believe aspiration is more definite and more actively hopeful than pretense. I believe one day, to pretend will not be okay. I believe more and more (and perhaps soon to be most) of us are working toward longer-term survival of the species. And I believe frequently lifting the veil will ultimately push aspiration from thought to action.

I am active awareness.
I am active aspiration.
I am outrage.
I am not giving up.