First Draft

Sonder is the feeling of realizing everyone has an inner life as complex as one’s own. It’s easy to feel like one’s own feelings, one’s own interior being, is more complicated, convoluted, and richer than anyone else’s. It is, afterall, the only mind we are privy to. As Nietzsche said, “We are always only in our own company” because no one can share our interiority with us. As much as we may long to share ourselves, explain ourselves, and feel understood by others, it is a moot point. We are alone. And we are just as miraculous as the next guy. We are all special, and thus, specialness disappears. 

No one is in fact more special than the next. I like to think I am special, in my own way. But who doesn’t? I like to think I am deeper than most. More empathetic. That my mind dips into emotional complexities that transcend what other people’s minds are capable of. But this is boasting. This is thinking I am deeper than others, which may be true, to a certain extent. Ultimately, however, there is no way to know this. No way to measure. Even some simpletons could have a rich interiority, potentially unmatched by many others. 
If I could Freaky Friday for a day, I would, just for curiosity’s sake.  It doesn’t matter whose mind switches with mine. They’re all interesting. They’re all an entirely different perspective than my own. I’d learn something from any mind. I’d get the opportunity to get the hell out of mine, a place in which I’m too often trapped, a place by which I’m consumed. 
Perhaps the world would be a brighter place given the chance to walk a day in another person’s shoes. We wouldn’t be so selfish, we wouldn’t be so hurtful. We’d gain substantial understanding of the human condition, instead of solely gaining understanding of our own solitary condition. And moreover, interestingly enough, we don’t even have a full understanding of our own minds, our own identity. 
Or is that just me?
It can’t be.
I’ve spent the last 30 years attempting to understand who I am. What brings me joy, what hurts me. What my strengths are, my weaknesses. Deciphering the whybehind who I fall in love with, who I dislike. Why I’ve made the choices I’ve made. Why I feel regret or accomplishment. 
Often, I lean on the Emerson quote,  “

He then learns that in going down into the secrets of his own mind, he has descended into the secrets of all minds.” And I wonder if there’s any truth to that. In recognizing my own uniqueness, my own imperfections and passions, I may too understand that everyone is unique, everyone has imperfections, everyone has passions, whether they’re the same recipe as mine or not. It’ll never be identical to my experience, but the concept is universal. There is only one me. There is only one of anyone.  

The flipside and downside of Emerson’s idea is that the more I focus on myself, the more I neglect others. And to no one’s fault but my own, I thus neglect the bustling world around me. Trapped, truly, inside my mind. And don’t we all crave human connection? To not feel so isolated, but rather feel tethered to someone else? 

I am an island. 

Aren’t we all?

We are connecting, paradoxically, by our solitude. We spend our entire lives with ourselves, whereas we only spend a fraction with others. It is important to know oneself, though obtaining such discovered identity is a lifelong process. We change. We evolve. We grow. We regress. We triumph. We fall. We question. We answer. Over and over again. 

I know I must pay attention to the world outside of myself, not merely the world within. It’s not about me. It’s not about any singular entity. Who does my self-understanding benefit besides myself? Am I really gaining insight into other minds by delving into my own? Perhaps. Perhaps not. 

These are my opinions. My contemplations. They are as rich as yours, nothing special, and nothing new. Our original thoughts are recycled from humanity and by humanity, over and over again. 

I am original, and yet, I’m not.

I am an island. But there’s a whole ocean out there waiting for me to take a swim. To leave my solitary place of confinement, and find purpose in the external. To connect with other complex beings, yearning for something that will never be conclusively resolved: utter understanding of what it means to be me, to be you, to be human.