I am an observer. A conscious observer, a relevant, engaged observer, but just an observer nonetheless. I observe life; I observe my emotions; I observe the world in which I live and breath and communicate. I’m a staunch atheist, but if I had to give an answer to the question, “What were you put on this Earth to do?” I would say, “To observe. To understand. To see.”

I used to have two names for myself. I’d imagine them as titles, like what might be listed on my emotional resume.

Black Nix: Emotion Collector. Black Nix: Master Escapist.

I am an Emotion Collector. I blogged once about emotional masochism — the tendency to put myself through pain and suffering. Purposefully. And I never understood exactly why I would do such a thing. But I understand it now. See, I have a desire to search down deep, to find the blackest dark, the heaviest weight. I want to understand it all, I do. I don’t know why. But I do. There are two emotions that I feel the most:

1-  Heaviness. Waking up in the morning and having the full pressure of life weighing down on you. Heart falling through your chest like a rock pulled down by gravity. The sense of dread at having to live, constrained by an ephemeral organic shell. The foreignness of the world.

2- The spark of joy and hope when I witness beauty. Dreaming transhumanist dreams. Listening to Mothertongue. Discovering a connection between ideas, which itself is an idea, and the sense of creation and accomplishment. And the beauty of finding patterns, of seeing the world exactly as it is but from a perspective that’s colorful, brilliant, warm.

I’m also a Master Escapist. I have a tendency to separate myself from the world. I think there are many reasons for this. For one, I don’t fit most places, among most people: a gay computer scientist whose brain is constantly hooked on contemporary classical music, philosophy and video games is probably neither going to be the life of the party nor a warm and compassionate friend. But there’s more than just this, I think. It’s harder to see the bigger picture when you’re in the middle of it. It’s harder to observe life from the inside. I’m not alone because I can’t interact with people, I’m alone because I don’t want to.

So it seems that my life so far has been really a patchwork composition of the emotions I’ve collected. Heaviness is the texture, the background, the dark, the brooding. But every now and then, a spark of beauty and hope lights it up with color and fantastic brilliance before dying again, into the blackness. The unbearable weight.

I’ve never understood how people live without seeing, or without trying to see, or without wanting to see. But it seems now that I’ve spent my whole life doing nothing but seeing. Is this merely a 76-year-long film I’ve gotten front-row seats to?  No, I create too. I write, I play cello, I draw, I talk to people. I combine and manipulate ideas. I create beautiful things. But is that enough? Is that all there is to living?

Sometimes I feel like I’m just funneling the world putting it all into myself. I have the world inside of me. But then what am I good for, to others? What place do I have among people? Who befriends the telescope?

Sometimes I feel like I’m never getting anywhere in life. Like I keep trying the same old things, the same old ways, and in the end I’m left with nothing to show for it but debt and a headache. Maybe I try too hard to do things quickly. Life has always been a game of procrastinate, catch up, procrastinate, catch up. I’m usually able to “catch up”, but where does that lead me? To an average life, with an average future. An average income, an average family.

I’m not average. I know this. But then why does it always seem like I’m never able to get what I want?

I need to work harder.
I need to be more patient.

Does it seem weird that I think my laziness stems from a lack of patience? No, listen, really. I can’t work on something wholeheartedly if I can’t envision the end. If I can’t sit down and say “This can really happen, if I work at it, if I wait.” Patience is something I’ve never been good at. But with patience, we can make progress. Real progress. Goal-driven, not emotion-driven.

What do I want in life? Short(er) term, anyway?

• I want a well-paying job, intellectual stimuli and creative freedom.
• I want safety in relationships. Good friends, honest friends.
• I want to be constantly challenged in life, by life. I want to make good decisions.
• I want to learn more. I want to learn everything. But learning, especially on one’s own, takes so much effort and so much patience.

I honestly don’t know what life will grant me. Who’s to say? But I’m confident that I can have the life I want, in time. With effort. With patience.

I envision a future in which man is judged by his peers and by society solely on his creation – on his music, on his art, on his invention. Where every human life is valued because every human life is the potential for creation. And where people understand the following: Respecting every individual’s ability to create is respecting society as a whole, for stability comes from diversity, and diversity comes from freedom.

There are those who say if everyone received everything they ever needed, then nobody would ever work. That may be true. I also, however,  believe that we need to create. It’s in our blood, it’s in our spirits. It’s human. I believe that if everyone received food and clothing and shelter, we wouldn’t actually cease to make progress — in fact, I believe we would make more progress. You may ask, what incentive is there? Why would anyone waste time creating? The answer is quite simple. It’s not respect from colleagues. It’s not the survival of the human race, even. It’s individual. It’s selfish. It’s the sheer feeling of accomplishment. The very pride in our individual selves that defines us as separate and distinct from others. It’s that happiness in becoming something tangible, something real and solid and definite, that one feeling that no amount of money could ever buy.

You don’t get that feeling? Well I do. But only when I separate myself from the expectations of others. Only when I separate myself from the constant pressure of retaining the ability to survive. But when those needs are met, when I feel completely safe — from financial collapse, from judgment — that’s when I look ahead. That’s when I strive forward. And I believe that every single human being in this world was born with that capacity. The desire to look forward, to create, to be.

Can every man be an artist? Perhaps not now, but I envision a future in which he can. In which manual labor can be done with our inventions alone and our minds are free to wander and wonder. To search the great vastness of this universe, but first, to understand our planet and ourselves. Every man was born an artist. And every man is capable of so much creative ambition, if only he didn’t have to worry about the little things. Those little things that are necessary for our survival, but by no means sufficient for our happiness. Once we can look past the little things, only then will we be able to truly come together and free our minds from the constraints of our bodies. Only then will the sheer brilliance of our ideas, in all their radiant, sparkling color, explode us into the darkness of the unknown. And the starlight emanated from each of us individually, together, will reach the deepest corners of our universe. The beginning, the end, and the spaces in between the lines. Truth will kneel before us, unreservedly, and offer us Perfection. And we will, without hesitation, accept.