The Centered Self

Thinking about some of the things I've been reading recently, I came to realize that much writing is focused on the writer's attempt to understand, come to terms with, or just know himself (or herself). This is certainly true for most poets, especially since the Romantics, but also for novelists and even some philosophers. All of which has made me wonder why is it so hard to know ourselves?

But then who among us would admit to knowing ourselves, or even knowing our own minds? And if we did, how interesting would we be? Much of what makes life worthwhile seems to be the quest. I can think of any number of mottos to this effect, but perhaps the best is: "the unexamined life is not worth living" as Socrates is supposed to have said, his response to the Apollonian admonition, "know thyself." Montaigne turns that into a question by asking que sais-je? what do I know?

It seems to me we have to take that question seriously, as Montaigne did, in order to gain some appreciation for and love of life or human existence. Montaigne was famously skeptical, an attitude I have come to admire from reading his essays, because it led him to keeping an open mind on most matters. Not that he was a man without opinions; he had many, but nearly all were provisional. He was always testing his opinions. That was the original meaning of the word essay, to test, and so he called his little pieces essays, testing his views, trying things out.

The other point of contact I have with Montaigne is reading. He read a great deal and thought a great deal about what he had read. Reading is another form of testing, trying ourselves against another version or vision. One of my favorite professors once told me in all seriousness that he couldn't read or really even think without a pencil in his hand. There was a time I was that way myself, although now I'm satisfied just knowing I have one in my pocket. I write stuff down as part of the puzzle that has become my life.

And so I've reached that point where I tend to look back over the years in an effort to chart my own progress and sum up what I've learned, so to speak. And I'm damned if I know. I guess that will be my motto. Just when I think I have something figured out, something new happens and I find I'm as mystified as ever. Someone once told me I'd never figure it out, and I suspect there's some truth in that. But I think I'll be okay as long as I keep working on the problem. I guess that's the point. Just keep your pencil (or computer) handy, and keep writing those little essays.