Sunday is always a difficult day for me. I get very reflective, today I’ve chosen to share a draft I’ve been working on this week. Its about the nature of identity.

The curious mind suffers a great imperfection. The curiosity generates the knowledge which perpetually changes the mindset of the individual, and leaves them with the constant nagging question; ‘Who am I?’ An empty feeling inside that we subconsciously attempt to fill. In some cases by seeking out others who might appear to know the answer to that one crucial question and bring us the inner peace we so desperately seek.

Is it so difficult to see why ignorance is so widespread amongst out kind, when this is perhaps the condition that allows us to find the answer to the question? Or does time show us the way to inner solace eventually. In calm desolation, in the ruins of failed relationships and long forgotten friendship – can the curious mind then find solace in isolation?

I’m a little confused as to why identity is something we cling to so desperately. Does it start with the naming? Or is it the defining? ‘What kind of person am I?’ – why do we ask these questions? As if its something permanent. Perhaps it is really a question of being able to trust yourself. Perhaps we don’t like the idea that we would be more inclined to engage in behavior that we currently dislike if we allow too much to change our perceptions. This would certainly enforce the idea that we learn more when we are unhappy.