I’m not sure I have a complete thought to write down, but I feel like spraying it somewhere anyway. I want to reminisce about a relatively insignificant moment that happened relatively early in my relatively uninteresting existence. I think I was five or six or seven. I don’t think I need to say that I’m not certain about that timescale. By the way, this has absolutely nothing to do with climbing whatsoever. Anyway, I was sitting in the backseat of my mom or dad’s car while one of them drove my family around. No one was talking. I was in the window seat behind the driver’s. That detail isn’t important to this little story, but I think it’s kind of interesting how early memories are almost always tied to some specific location. Pro-esoteric neurologist people might call this phenomenon spatiotemporal recognition, but I’m not that qualified. Anyway, I was sitting in the backseat of my parent’s car, looking out the window or at my feet or something when I had the thought that prompted the creation of this crappy collection of words. I should mention that I remember almost nothing from this period of my life. I think most people are the same way, but I’m not really sure about that. I pretty much only remember moments that were accompanied by big emotions, like really embarrassing, confusing, painful, or happy experiences… those times you can really feel your body-juice working. This process is now called endocrine modulation because someone’s thesis didn’t sound official enough. Anyway, I was sitting in the back seat of this car, my family’s car, when I had a thought that I considered to be abstract at the time, and still do really. In fact, I think it’s about the furthest I’ve gotten down the road of the topic that it concerns. I guess it was more of an experience than a thought because it wasn’t like a linear string of language, but more like a jumble of concepts in no particular order. I was sitting in that seat staring at something, and I thought to myself that my …state of being… I guess you could say, what I might now call my consciousness or existence or something, is a really weird, preposterous, unlikely, and strange thing. I hate when people use synonymous words together as if they have different meanings. Like, just find another word that means something else that you’re trying to say. Anyway, I thought that my being me was just kind of a farcical thing. I had to Google a thesaurus for that one. I thought about how it’s super strange how I’m this thing that controls this body thing among all of these other body things controlled by things. That wasn’t the first time I had this kind of thought, but it’s definitely the first one I can remember. I think the most interesting part of this little instance is that I can only recall the moment because I actively forced myself to store the memory. I thought that my brain would poop out some sort of truth if I were to delve into this dead-end of an idea that I’d had a couple of times before. I explored it, and then forced myself to remember it for later. I willfully shelved the experience, so that I could pick it back up later in life. …I guess it worked. My younger self would be proud to see that my life is now crippled by the smallness that I feel every day. Little Kurt would be ecstatic to learn that all practical pursuits feel futile when I consider the absurdity of my existence. I’m not sure why I felt like writing this down or posting it on the internets, BUT. I. DID.