Learning to See
October 30, 2024
I intend to use this section as a space to document my thoughts—ideas that don’t necessarily fit within the main text of the book. Writing them down serves both to make these ideas feel more concrete and to ease my mind, hopefully reducing the sleepless nights that have accompanied my work on this project.
As I reflect on and explore the various dimensions of my research, I find myself uncovering insights about my own identity—insights that, ten years ago, I would have dismissed as impossible. I’ve half-joked that this writing might resemble the manifesto of a disturbed person. In some sense, it may indeed serve as a personal manifesto—a statement of beliefs, often intended for groups but, in this case, deeply personal.
Certain realizations have already made their way into the book, such as my need to connect with my inner child. I recognize symptoms of imposter syndrome, likely stemming from a lifetime of messages that intellectual pursuits weren’t meant for “someone like me.” Throughout my upbringing, I received little encouragement for academic success. I can recall only one conversation with a school counselor, and it was about placing me in therapy for anger issues. Discussions about future goals or academic potential were non-existent, as were conversations encouraging me to prepare for university—even if I didn’t plan on attending. The psychological impact of such neglect is profound; as a young man, I was written off, labeled as a “future inmate,” and never given the encouragement to believe in my own potential.
This lack of support has left me with a persistent struggle for self-belief. I grew up thinking I lacked the intelligence or depth to engage in deeper understanding. Now, as I read my own writing and reflect on the thoughts I’ve put into words, I sometimes don’t recognize the work as my own. I know it came from me—I’ve spent countless hours jotting down notes, often waking in the night to record ideas before they fade. Yet when I read it aloud, it feels unreal. I still struggle to see myself as an intelligent person, despite what those around me say. It’s challenging to believe them when my entire life, I’ve been told otherwise—that people like me aren’t “meant” for intellectual pursuits, only for physical labor. I’ve done that work too, and it’s no easier, nor any more fulfilling.
These experiences raise questions about the human mind and its responses to trauma. I believe my mind is protecting me by withholding self-belief, shielding me from the potential pain of failure. Failure in this endeavor would reinforce all the negative beliefs instilled in me, making them feel definitive. Over the past few days, I’ve realized that I have something to fix within myself. My wife, perceptive as always, has pointed this out many times, and she’s absolutely right.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, in The Gulag Archipelago, speaks of “untangling the knots in your soul”—knots created by both oneself and others but essential to unravel for personal growth. I’ve discovered some knots that need untying. The challenge lies in the fact that my inner child still clings tightly to the rope holding these knots. It’s not a matter of simply untying them; first, I must convince him to let go.
