When I was in my second year of university, I took a course on Existentialism, during which I wrote one of my all-time favorite essays, based on a piece by Jose Ortega y Gasset.
Ortega's essay was called, Man Has No Nature, and his argument was partly this:
Man is what has happened to him, what he has done...
this constitutes a relentless trajectory of experiences
that he carries on his back as the vagabond his bundle
of all he possesses.
Ortega's essay was called, Man Has No Nature, and his argument was partly this:
Man is what has happened to him, what he has done...
this constitutes a relentless trajectory of experiences
that he carries on his back as the vagabond his bundle
of all he possesses.
My essay was called, "Existential Hobos: Why the Past Sticks With You," and the thesis was that man is born without a project of existence and has to create his life from the ground up. The constant nature of the past, which builds continually, contrasts with the fluidity of the future, which can go in any direction. It is also somewhat comforting, because if we have no predestination, we cannot fail, no matter what we choose as our path.
We are all little hobos, picking things up as we wander through life. It doesn't have to be a material object, either. We are collectors: of behavior, turns of phrase, ideas, habits, quirks.
The things I've assimilated over the years are starting to add up, and (hopefully) they make me a more interesting person. I think mostly about the habits that I've absorbed from past relationships: an ex-boyfriend who drank from recycled glass jars, one who worshiped Metallica, one who wore mismatched shoes, another who liked to run. A roommate from my last year in university used to say that you take one thing from each relationship forward with you.
Likewise, there are habits and quirks from past relationships that will repulse you for years to come: lazy turns of phrase, bad hygiene, lame jokes, evangelical tendencies. I suffer from those too, and have no doubt inflicted my own habits on others. But the majority of relationships have at least one redeeming, and enduring, quality.
I still like to drink from a glass jar now and then (who has time to buy real glasses, anyway?) and lately I've been eager to lace up my running shoes and head out with the puppy. It's a way of reconnecting with the past, for whatever that's worth -- the good, the bad, and the memories.
The essay also considered a vast frustration with the responsibility of creating our own destiny. We take the past with us, but no matter how many or which choices we make, we're never done choosing. And the little hobo's bundle of goods keeps growing.
