Purpose in 2016

I found some old notes for 2016 earlier today. This one hit harder than most. Hard to think that I'm still working through a lot of these issues, but maybe we all are?

For some reason I feel somewhat empty. I don't know why and I don't know how to fix it.

I wonder constantly if Im working towards the right thing. Of course, there is no way to know. Perhaps that is why I wonder about it so frequently. My mind is constantly barraged by such unanswerable questions. Some are simple - wondering if I made the right choice changing to computer science, or why I cant seem to wrap by head around Algebra or Geometry. Some are more troubling, such as wondering why I'm here, or what it even means to be here.

Sometimes my hands look weird. Sometimes I wonder how I even exist. How did what it means to be me, arise out of a single cell? How did I even get to this? As I write this, I get a slight chill down my back. Its peculiar to think that at one moment my body existed in some form, but I did not, and in the next I just show up! I just poof into existence.

How does that happen?

I don't understand a lot of things. Most things that happen I don't understand. I feel as though I should make art, but any emotional art I make would not satisfy me. Piece after piece I would throw away with disgust, all the while emotions spilling over. Emotions overflowing, making a mess.

I feel more lonely now than ever before, I wish I could share. But I have nothing to show. I'm the first grader that has things, but nothing that meets his own standard. No lego's impressive enough, or structures tall enough. So I stay quiet, toiling away until I have something of merit. By then my standards have changed, and I have nothing to share.

I imagine it'd be nice to be in a relationship. But I'm not sure if I could sustain that, I feel as though I'll say something wrong, or worse have nothing to say. Nothing to share or contribute.

In my mind, my opinions are coopted from great minds. From Hamming to Victor my ideas are not my own. Perhaps I could argue the combination is unique, but the ideas are not. Perhaps this is normal? I wouldn't know. Sometimes people say my ideas are smart, If they'd read what I've read they would realize otherwise. My ideas are not novel, nor are they unique.

If my thoughts are in some ways not my own, how do I find authentic thoughts? How do I separate my ideas, for ideas I've heard before? I once wrote down ideas for representing Natural Language, that I thought were unique at the time. A few says later, I realized I have regurgitated the rough idea of a paper I'd read earlier.

This is not a trivial problem. For someone who values ideas, its easy to wonder where I come into play in all this. Or will I forever be a echo of those I've read? There is some solace in synthesis. After all new ideas can be a synthesis of older ones. Yet I still feel hollow.

Just as my entrance unnerves me, my exit does the same. I do not what to know this feeling. Yet, it is this feeling that forces me to reckon with my time.

I wish I could live many different lives. Experiencing what it feels like to be a painter, or a astronaut, or perhaps a monk. I have no idea what feelings they experience, or how their lives arc. Nor will I ever. This is a sad thought, but it makes me more appreciative of this.