the first step out

Freewill doesn’t exist.

We don’t always know the reasons for why we act a certain way.

But I do know that our minds are adept at rationalizing, at justifying our past behavior. We create stories that make our choices feel coherent and intentional, even when they’re not.

Finding your why?

That’s just an illusion. A backfilled narrative. A tidy explanation that arrives after the act.

Right now, I’m not really sure why I’m writing.

Sure, I can look at my past writing and tell you:

• I write to think

• I write to remember

• I write to connect

These are all true. But they’re also stories I tell myself after the fact.

Sometimes I frame it positively: I write because it helps me find meaning.

Sometimes I frame it negatively: I would lose track of what matters if I didn’t write.

The positive frame is comforting. It makes me feel in control, like I’m choosing to be reflective.
The negative frame feels closer to the truth: that I’m compelled to write, or else I spiral into existential nihilism.

I can’t write when I don’t find what I’m writing about personally meaningful.
But I need to keep writing to find meaning.

That’s the trap. And maybe the path.

I’m stuck.

But maybe this is the first step out.