What is it about the absence within myself that seeks self-destruction? After all, the destruction of absence is filling the space it occupies, and in my case emptiness is destroyed by contentment, by a feeling of fullness. I fluctuate from contentment to emptiness in no discernible pattern, thrown from one end of the spectrum to the other by the whims of an episode on TV or a beautiful sunset. But it’s only in my moments of emptiness that I want to create things that can connect with others, and I can’t help wondering where on earth this dissonant tendency comes from.
Maybe a good place to start answering that question is with the other side of the coin – why don’t I want to create when I’m content? Frankly, I can’t identify with the stereotypical trends of social media, of sharing normal happy moments to project a normal happy version of myself. I mean, I think I understand why others may want to, but I don’t really feel any special desire to share my moments of happiness with everyone. This blog is really the only public place my thoughts are ever published, and while I share my thoughts and experiences of contentment with friends, I’ve never felt the need to do so here.
I suppose there’s a simple reason for that – when I’m content, I’m content. What I mean by that is, if something makes me content, I feel happy and comfortable as I am by definition, enjoying the happiness I derive from it within the confines of my own head. What benefit would I get from sharing it with everyone else? Of course, there is the reason of transferring that happiness to others; but if my first time cooking made me happy, I’m happy sharing it with a few people I know would be happy hearing about it (friends and family). I have no way if doing that on a public forum will really positively affect anyone. So, I’m happy being happy, and creation ceases.
Why, then, do I want to create when I feel empty? The inverse of the above seems to be the obvious answer. If you’re content when you’re content, you’re discontent when you’re discontent. In essence, as with contentment, you definitionally have an urge to change your state of affairs. And hence you create or connect and try to find something to fill the void until you’re content again, with your actions tending towards an equilibrium of contentment.
It’s intuitively simple enough, but it asks the question: why do I then want to share my thoughts and emotions about that period of emptiness? Most of my writing and poetry are about, to put it bluntly, “sad” things, or thoughts I have when I’m confused and empty. If emptiness just drives me to create, why do I keep creating in emptiness’ image? I see two possible reasons for it: either it’s just a natural characteristic of the need to create that emptiness causes, or it’s a choice I’m making.
If we consider the former reason, trying to prove a natural characteristic of something is inherently problematic, because it follows that exceptions to this characteristic are unnatural. This blog is a case in point. While the vast majority of my writing happened when I was feeling empty, some of it isn’t about emptiness. My poem about the Campo de Fiori, for instance, or the essay about zygites, were written when I was sad, but they’re about fundamentally beautiful, uplifting, and meaningful things, at least to me, and they made me feel less empty.
This chain of reasoning kind of supports the second reason – that the decision is a choice – by furnishing me with a convenient justification. I choose whatever has the best chance of filling the absence as and when I create. The subject is irrelevant, so long as it fulfils its purpose of destroying the absence. But then, as has become a pattern, another question crawls out of the woodwork (you’re welcome, reader). And this question is less general and more specific to me – why is it that, most of the time, I feel less empty when I try to share my emptiness with others?
Just like the other questions I’ve asked so far, I could try to put forward a few logical reasons and debate which one is best, but that would be disingenuous. Deep down, I think the reason why I want to share my emptiness with others is because… emptiness is lonely. When I’m content, I’m also content being alone in my contentment, excluding any person who helps me feel happy. But emptiness is also the lack of contact or connection, an existence in a blank void. And, as absurd as it is, I try to reach out into this void for someone else out here.
I feel like if I find a fellow castaway, since I’m stuck in my absence until the caprice of my mood throws me a bone, the emptiness might feel less empty for a while. And so I create facsimiles of what I feel and throw it into a jumble of words and put it out on my blog and hope. But I don’t hope to feel better myself, at least not directly. At best, I’ll get a like or a couple views, and maybe a few kind words of feedback from my friends (shoutout to meme lady, you rock!). But otherwise, I can’t hear any response, and so this blog can’t make me feel less alone in my emptiness. Rather, I hope someone else comes across it and that it makes them feel less alone. I shout into the void and I hope someone hears me and feels a bit better, even though I can’t hear them. I hope they can read things that I write, and that it drives them to think or create or do something to make themselves feel happy or alive. And I guess it’s the possibility that things I write and create, things that paint a picture of my own moments of emptiness, can make others feel less alone that makes me feel more complete.
Maybe I’m being hypocritical here. After all, I said not too long ago in this post that the lack of certainty of my positive moments affecting anyone was a good reason for not sharing them: shouldn’t that apply here? Risk is becoming a theme on this blog, and now it rears its ugly head to help me weasel out of this contradiction. Emptiness is discontent and desperation, and desperation isn’t keen on risk aversion – the emptier I feel, the more I’m willing to take the risk of reaching out and not being heard on the off-chance that someone does hear me.
And so, way-too-patient reader, we reach the end of my meandering questions and attempts at answers. If you’re reading this and you’ve read/are going to read other posts on this blog, this is where a lot of it comes from and this is my aspiration. It feels weird to put it so concretely here, but if I’m going to be honest about my thoughts, I should have to level with you about my motivation for expressing them, long-winded as it is. Of course, annoying old me can’t help but sneak in one last question – if emptiness can be a source of creation, is there any value in contentment besides selfishness? I’ll restrain myself here (you’re welcome again) and try and answer this in some post somewhere down the line. As for now, it’s time to shout out into the void again. Hope you’re out there.
The Galley with No Name 