As of late I have found myself considering philosophical questions to the extent that they no longer are philosophical in nature, but rather essential, all in order for me to remain sane. In a time of doubt – of one’s expections on life, on one’s choices of paths to follow – these questions are more important than ever before.

It is often it occurs that a question or a thought is caught in a loop in the brain’s complicated biochemical circutery. The same phrase is repeated over and over again, presented for one’s cognitive and study-essential abilities time after another. Sometimes one is able to free oneself from the sticky grip of the question which at first seemed rather harmless. But then there are the times where this thought’s adhesive is more persistent than ever before and the only way of escaping its grip is to confront it.

Has the essence of being human evolved over time? This question has been crawling around inside my head. It has scrathed my frontal lobe, it has conquered the gap between my hemispheres, it has snuck between my cortex’s grey matter and the underlying white. The question has parasited on, me has given me no time to rest. For, every time I have closed my eyes, tried to escape the demands I face, it has been there.
What does it mean to be human? Has the essence of it evolved over time?

It does not take one long to realize that a choice one has made never was the right one. Of this, I have become painfully aware, all as my college studies have advanced. When the joy of waking up in the morning is no more, when every breath seems worthless to take, that is when one knows that a choice has been made and altered life in a way it was never supposed to.

The feeling of despair is ancient. For ages it has told man that he is in danger, that something has to be done about it. The feeling of anxiety is a body’s own alarm. It tells us when something is wrong. Depair and anxiety are feelings one would be better off without, and that is why they motivate us to rid ourselves of what it i that troubles us.

In past times the feeling of anxiety must of course have been present – if not, it would logically not exist. Every element of the human body – from the largest structure to the smallest feeling – has been crafted my millions of years worth of evolution to ensure that the human race would be sturdy in any battle it would ever encounter.

It is possible that the anxiety of ancient times was simple in its nature, I am however no expert in the field. An unpleasant, but hard to define, feeling of worry is located just below the rim of the ribcage, accentuated when the little creature which is the source of anxiety moves – triggered by bodily, emotional and external stimuli. It is a little creature in my eyes, Anxiety, thought I know better. But a feeling which is so alive as anxiety has to be more than just neurotransmitters between two neurons in the abdomen. When it comes to the human body I am sure that it is more than just the sum of its parts.

By definition anxiety is “distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune.” Of course this feeling must have been present during ancient times. There were many dangers which surrounded the mere act of being alive and breathing:

“Will the sickness the other tribes have suffered reach ours?”
“Will the resources of the upcoming summer be sufficent to sustain us yet another winter?”
“Will the children grow old enough to give rise to a new generation?”

Anxiety is however not a constructive feeling per se. During short periods of time it may be constructive in its effects of being a motivational force. The human body is however fragile (not to external injury) but to what it is capable of doing to itself. Prolonged expoure to anxiety hurts the body, being deconstructive to the structures which make up the organism. If anxiety was designed to fulfil such a purpose, then I personally doubt it would ever have been incorporated into human nuture throught the course of evolution. For, the skills humanity have aquired are all supposed to help and motivate her, push her forward to face new frontiers. These skills were not designed to be the shovel with which she slowly undermines herself.

In the modern society, among all the sparkling inventions and shining symbols of luxury and abundance, anxiety is a dirty host which grins and sneers when it has dug its teeth far into its next victim. Why Anxiety glee? Because it knows it will not let go of the human sould easily. For years it will tains it, paint it black with its promises of misfortune. All in the name of destruction, which irt so well represents.

Of this I have been aware for some time now. Ever since I made a terrible choice a few months ago which has come to affect my every day ever since. In April (which seems to be so far away now) I chose not to pursue my life’s dream, but to settle for something easier and more simple – something which would help me aquire the point of my whole existance earlier. It was a decision which was not wholly flawed, but close to being so. This choice of mine has haunted me since the late days of August.

Since then, I have been pondering the essential questions of life.

“What is the point of being alive?”
“What am I supposed to do with my life?”
“Who am I?”

For years, my whole life to be exact, I have been sure of who I am, who I was supposed to become. I still know what I would like to become the most, who I am deep inside. It is just that there are some obstacles which have to be conquered before then, some problems which have to be solved. I have based my whole life upon something I am not sure of, nor the reason for me being so convinced.

Had I only stopped and asked myself who I truly were, perhaps then the true me would have answered – truthfully. One question I already have answered. The answer I keep close to my heart. I yhope for that the answer will give me energy to move on, that the reassurance of having one of life’s questions answered would help me subdue the hungry beast of anxiety. That this is true, I already know. It is the only star upon the pitch black heavens of my life.

The other questions are what nurture Anxiety. Every time I release the cognitive firewalls my body has created to presrve my sanity for a later day I nurture the beast which is curled up just below my ribcage. I imagine it being similar in appearance to a porcupine, raising its spikes in delight from having been nurtured yet again. It grows larger and larger, more and more fierce. It rolls around inside me, it tastes what my insides are like in flavour. (I imagine my taste is as dull as my spirits, something whoch brings me some joy, knowing that Anxiety will not be dining on delicacies.)

The questions which Anxiety draw their energy from are the ones to which I have no answers.
“What am I supposed to do with my life – should I do what brings me joy or what brings me the aids of fulfilling my goals?”
“Should I continue walking the path I have chosen to follow, even if half a year upon it has brought me nothing but despair?”

The most sentient question I should ask myself in this context is why I even ask myself all these questions. I already know the answer to them. And by definition, knowing the answer to something is the opposite of having an unanswered question.

So, what is it which makes me suffer from anxiety? What is it inside me which nurtures the little beast inside me, whom I have come to know as Anxiety?

To these questions I already have the answers. It is the fear of losing control of my life which brings me all this sorrow. I know what I have but I do not know what I may recieve later on. The wise part of me, the part which has survived the great darkness of Anxiety, tells me that I should gamble for once ion my life. For, the one who never bets will never win. The reasonable part of me, which is less subdues by Anxiety, then counters with telling me that gambling is a situation aimed in only one dierction – loss and eventually depair (which is another name of Anxiety’s). In gambling the gambler never wlaks off with the pot of gold. An outcome like that was never the point of gambling, thus it is also knows as hazard games.

So, here I am, stuck inbetween two absolutes. The reasonable and the wise one. I can not side with either one for they are both equally large parts of me. Without either of them, I ould simply not be me.

Can questions give rise to answers? Can one question give rise to more than one answer? Has the initial question I asked myself been answered yet? Are there questions which never will be answered?

No question will ever be answered fully, something will always be left unsaid, unthought of, unanswered. Questions give rise to answers, that is their nature, their sole point of existance. The inital question will never be fully answered, but part of it has been illuminated.

Has the essence of being human evolved over time?
My current state of mind says that it has. As well as that it has not.

Not, in a sense of that anxiety is part of the human creation. The “distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune” in part of human nature. As a part of it, it can never be removed. Thus, the essence of being human has not changed over the millions of years it has been exposed to change, all because the human being is more than the sum of its parts – which is the essence.

Then again, what is the point of being alive? Is it not to give rise to a new generation of people who eventually will come to ponder the point of being alive? In my eyes it is. In the world mankind has found itself in today so many essentials of life have been impeded by constructions which will serve no purpose the day we are gone. Because of such insights, the only sentient conclusion is that life is too short to not enjoy. For, in a hundred years, no one will care whether or not I came to terms with myself. In a hundred years, it will not matter. For, by that time, I will have given rise to people who ponder the same question I struggle with for the time being.

Already knowing the answer to my problems, though I do not wish to admit it to myself, one may wonder what I am doing with my life. For a person who is not me, I must appear to be self-desructive – insisting upon doing things I could not care less about and which bring me grief.

In a perfect world, there would be no such thing as anxiety. In a perfect world I would follow the directions my heart has written down for me. If I only chose to disregard ffrom the torn parts of myself. If only I chose to see what plan my heart has laid out for me to follow.

For really, it does not matter whether or not the essence of being human has changed over time. What matters is what is for the moment and the best way to treasure it.

(If advice from others is easier to listen to than one’s own, then listen to someone who offers advice. Following one’s heart is the wisest point of action. To do things which bring one no joy is pointless. By the time one’s life has come to end, one will only regret what one never did. Like following one’s heart and not having lead the perfect life, but the life which made one happy. For, all human beings, all people, are wonderful creations who deserve to die with a smile of success upon their lips as the graduate from life.)