I went to school today from 2:30 until 5:20, and in that time I went to my Psychology and Anthropology classes. I swear, never before taking those classes have I ever asked so many of my own questions about myself. Questions such as "Who am I? What is human nature? Why are we here? And what are we afraid of?" Who I am is simple to answer in terms of family and name. I'm a Frost, a Middlestead on my mother's side, and the Scottish part of me is of the Campbell clan in Glencoe, whom nobody in that region of the world really cares for. But who am I? "Where is my self? Where'd I leave that tired old thing?" (Melena in Wicked) I find myself wondering what it is that makes me who I am. Who I was, who I am, who I might be- the past, present, future, and any other tense you could think of. To be or not to be.

But is that the question?

We talk a lot about human nature in psychology and in anthropology; every time I go in those classrooms I feel like I'm being examined in great detail by myself. Like I'm trying to find something that makes sense, not unlike an old shaman watching for signs in pig blood or in stars. Like I could tell what will be, by what has already been or by what is right before my eyes. I know I can't. I can't tell the future or predict an outcome. I can barely even tell when it's going to rain.

I don't know why we're here. I think there's something out there, beyond what our technology can reach to and provide explanations for, and that it's just not our time to understand it yet. I don't know what I think it is, or if I'll even figure it out before my time is up. Why am I on this earth? Why do I look out through these eyes and see these walls, why do I feel these emotions and sensations? Is there a reason, or did we just pick the right card from a deck of billions? I consider myself a spiritual, yet nonreligious, person. I believe things, but I feel the need to just think about them quietly to myself rather than bluster and thunder about them. Odd how this quiet thinking is viewed by some people as plain old not caring. This is something I ask myself on a more or less daily basis, to be honest. It's a mystery that I want to unfold and explain, and yet at the same time, I want to leave it untouched and unanswered. For what is life, and where is the beauty in the simple act of being alive, if there is no mystery?

As for fears, we're afraid of lots of things. We're afraid of snakes, of spiders, of cars and earthquakes and bunny rabbits, and we get so wrapped up in our little things that go bump in the night that we can't focus on anything else or even learn how to conquer it. We never try to learn how to master our fears. Really, I think what we're more scared of is ourselves, and of each other. We're afraid of our own potential, and we're afraid of what others think of the things we do. We're afraid of not being good enough for the world. Think about it, though- everybody's got to start somewhere. Even the most high-up of people have their down moments. God knows I'm afraid of lots of things myself. I admit it. I'm afraid of sharks, somewhat afraid of large groups of people, and of late I've begun to be afraid of the dark if I'm alone in it. I'm afraid mostly of myself, because I have this feeling like there's all this potential inside me, and that it's just biding its time and waiting for the opportune moment. I feel like I'm not meant for ordinary things. Heck, one can't possibly be meant for ordinary things when you feel this kind of passion for each single moment.

"To be or not to be is not the question. The question is how to prolong being." I don't know, but that doesn't quite seem right to me either. "To be or not to be" sounds almost too simple, whereas prolonging being seems to me merely about making a deal with any gods there may be. A sort of "you leave me alone and I won't piss you off" thing. Or possibly a deal with Death? Yes, I intended the personification. In the old fairy tales, Death was a person- an old man, with a scythe and a long beard, who came to collect souls when it was their owners' turn to die. I read a few tales where a person, determined not to go so easily, would outwit Death and so take their lifespans into their own hands. Funny how Death never seemed like the kind of guy who could take a joke. Likely as not he'd get ticked off and want revenge, and good luck to the unlucky outwitter of Death when they finally decided to pass on and die sensibly. But anyway, I'm off topic. Prolonging being? No, maybe not beyond a certain point. I have some dignity- I'd go, but on my own terms.