In my effort to be a somebody I try to create an original piece of brilliant work. Yet I do this by trying to just create an original piece of work, right off the bat. As if there is no process by which a person evolves towards creating something that is original, which means uniquely theirs.
I walk into a café, sit down at a table and take out a philosophy book I’m reading. As I’m doing this I’m imagining that a person at another table notices the book I’m reading and is impressed, or imagine someone comes over to me and comments on what I’m reading. It’s a small fantasy expressing the desire to be recognized as a brilliant somebody. An attempt to satisfy mentally this need to be recognized.
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