Hanging by a thread

When psychology first started up, it’s main tool was introspection – the examination of one’s own mind. This has somewhat fallen by the wayside, not being scientific enough, I suppose.

How can you understand the mind of another if you don’t understand your own?

I wonder if the real reason we stopped was that it sucked. It’s painful to look at ones self and see our flaws reflected back at us. To remember all the times we were driven be greed or egotism or even fear instead of our good qualities.

I try to look back sometimes. To track the moments that lead me to where I stand today. To try to understand how I came to be. Some things are easy, an incident that lead to a fear of people. A day that instilled a sense of wonder for the world.

Other things are not so black and white. When did I learn that there’s no such thing as safety? My admittedly terrible memory doesn’t hold a time when I felt safe. Maybe I came out of the womb aware of our fragility.

Then I fall into the realm of philosophy. What is safety? To never have to worry about being hurt? But one cannot live wrapped in bubble wrap. Maybe safety is about choosing who can hurt you, who you give that power to.

I know I’m very lucky, I have a roof over my head, food on my table. I’m not at risk of illness or harm like those in war torn countries. And while I live on the breadline, I haven’t suffered the extremes of poverty. But these are things that have been handed to me, and what is handed out may one day be taken away. If you cannot count on a thing continuing does it still count as safe?

maybe safety is knowing if you fall down someone will help you back up. But I know if I fall there will be a price to that help, and I’m already living under the sword of favours dangling above my head, threatening consequences if I do not show gratitude to those who knocked me down in the first place so that they could be seen to be helping me up.

Maybe one day I’ll find my own meaning inside my own head.