December 10, 2017 (A Reflection on Snow Turned Painfully Existential) in Journal 1

It’s snowing in London. It’s my first year living here, but I’ve been told it hasn’t snowed in London in years, which then makes my experience here a bit more exciting. And, as I sit at my desk, trying to read scientific papers for my essay due tomorrow and distracting myself with Youtube videos and random Google searches, I am slightly inspired by the snow.
Just outside of my window is a cute, little house of brown bricks and a residential building of brown bricks just further beyond. All is covered in snow. All is quiet and the sky is a gentle blend of greys and blues. Two or three windows across from me have lights on or candles lit to announce their presence– and, I have lit a candle in return. This is the place for study and reflection and literature. This is the time. If this setting does not inspire me to work until the wick burns out, nothing ever will.
However, in my realization of this, it seems that my pursuit of education is some form of vanity– a pursuit to convey or surround myself with a particular aesthetic as opposed to a true and honest interest and passion. And, when I further think about my life and my future, I think of an image rather than a feeling and I struggle to superimpose the two. I don’t know whether the happiness I feel while envisioning my life and future is because the particular image I have conjured is beautiful or if I conjured an image that made me truly happy, therefore, I find it beautiful. Is image arbitrary? I hope so, but the evidence is lacking. Or, is life innately vain? Seemingly, the case, but awfully depressing to think about. Will I now never be truly happy with my place in the world having asked that question?
I feel like all of what I am is a learned thing, but, I feel– perhaps, unlike most people– that I can so easily unlearn it all, which is frightening. Nothing to me is innate. My appreciation of the image I described in the second paragraph of this post is, I think, a learned response– a nostalgic response associated with family. If I associate it or my family with something else or I disassociate it from my experiences, then I have undone a part of who I am or was?
It’s like my life is an intricate web of associations and, for every new experience and inevitable association of that experience, I add a string to the web. But, what frightens me is the fact that any web can be unraveled. It may be difficult to unwind the entire intricate mess, but, in theory, any web can be unraveled and any knots undone. And, just in my understanding that the web that defines who I am is not and never can be a concrete thing, makes it somewhat arbitrary to put any weight on it. To justify my existence by who I am rather than the fact that I am is, thus, unjustifiable. But, to simply justify my existence by the sheer fact that I exist is obviously depression-making. So, while I can never really truly again connect the person I am to the web I have made for myself, I will endeavor to try my ardent best to do so, so that this long life won’t be quite so boring.

Until next time.... badup bup badup bup.