Human impotence

Humans are impotent. We aren't all that capable. Isolate a man from his tools and companions and he is one of the more useless creatures on this planet.

A lot of pastimes seem to be an attempt to escape from our inability. If I can take a beautiful picture, it will make up for the mundane, redundant patterns of being alive, and the stale perspectives I hold on to every day. If I can play a moving song, it makes it seem like there's something inside more significant and interesting than what I actually feel. We dress ourselves up in our accomplishments and abilities, trying to hide that naked awkward thing that cowers in the corner, uncertain and afraid.

I have this expectation of my life, of my relationships, of my identity, to stand alone apart from accomplishment, beauty, and the fog of distraction. I want to see every aspect of my existence propped up to see - utterly apart, without any pretense of significance, with no elegant display to convey worth - if there is value, I want it to be truly, intrinsically present. It doesn't matter what there is or how much of it, but I want to know that I am more than a construct of meaningless input and wasted effort. I want to know what I am. What is the thing that we call "I"? Is it even there if you remove everything that "I" is not?