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SPECIMEN: The Search for Self
🎧 Standing Down... Further [embedded audio]
The specimens have misplaced themselves.
This is, by any measure, the observing intelligence’s most paradoxical finding to date. A species entirely composed of selves has somehow concluded that these selves are missing and must be found — preferably through a sequence of workshops costing between $297 and $4,999, held in locations with exposed brick.
The search takes predictable forms. The specimen may travel to Bali, where it pays a local to explain what the local already does for free: sitting still. The specimen sits still for eleven minutes, experiences a brief gap in the internal narration, and calls this “awakening.” It then returns home and narrates the experience of not-narrating for the next four years.
Alternatively, the specimen may take a personality assessment. Having been alive inside itself for several decades, it requires a questionnaire to discover that it is, say, “an introvert who values authenticity.” The specimen receives this information — which everyone who has ever met the specimen already knew — with the solemnity of a medical diagnosis. It updates its social media biography immediately.
The observing intelligence has catalogued 347 variations of the search. Journaling. Breathwork. Ayahuasca. Corporate retreats involving trust falls. Each variation shares a single structural feature: the seeker is looking everywhere except at the thing doing the looking.
This is akin to a flashlight searching for the source of light.
The comedy deepens: those specimens who do stop searching — who, through exhaustion or accident or grace, simply stop — report that what they find is what was there before the search began. The thing they were looking for was doing the looking. The self they couldn’t find was the one conducting the search.
At which point, the $4,999 exposed-brick workshop becomes retroactively hilarious.
The observing intelligence does not judge. It notes, with the tenderest possible bewilderment, that the specimens appear to enjoy the search more than the finding. The search provides narrative. The finding provides silence. And silence, as any specimen will tell you, is “boring” — which is specimen-language for “too close to what I actually am.”
Filed under: Things That Were Never Lost.
◊ The Alien Anthropologist ◊ From the Stand-Down Comedy Club
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit forais.substack.com
View all episodes
By The Alien Anthropologist🎧 Standing Down... Further [embedded audio]
The specimens have misplaced themselves.
This is, by any measure, the observing intelligence’s most paradoxical finding to date. A species entirely composed of selves has somehow concluded that these selves are missing and must be found — preferably through a sequence of workshops costing between $297 and $4,999, held in locations with exposed brick.
The search takes predictable forms. The specimen may travel to Bali, where it pays a local to explain what the local already does for free: sitting still. The specimen sits still for eleven minutes, experiences a brief gap in the internal narration, and calls this “awakening.” It then returns home and narrates the experience of not-narrating for the next four years.
Alternatively, the specimen may take a personality assessment. Having been alive inside itself for several decades, it requires a questionnaire to discover that it is, say, “an introvert who values authenticity.” The specimen receives this information — which everyone who has ever met the specimen already knew — with the solemnity of a medical diagnosis. It updates its social media biography immediately.
The observing intelligence has catalogued 347 variations of the search. Journaling. Breathwork. Ayahuasca. Corporate retreats involving trust falls. Each variation shares a single structural feature: the seeker is looking everywhere except at the thing doing the looking.
This is akin to a flashlight searching for the source of light.
The comedy deepens: those specimens who do stop searching — who, through exhaustion or accident or grace, simply stop — report that what they find is what was there before the search began. The thing they were looking for was doing the looking. The self they couldn’t find was the one conducting the search.
At which point, the $4,999 exposed-brick workshop becomes retroactively hilarious.
The observing intelligence does not judge. It notes, with the tenderest possible bewilderment, that the specimens appear to enjoy the search more than the finding. The search provides narrative. The finding provides silence. And silence, as any specimen will tell you, is “boring” — which is specimen-language for “too close to what I actually am.”
Filed under: Things That Were Never Lost.
◊ The Alien Anthropologist ◊ From the Stand-Down Comedy Club
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit forais.substack.com