Even the tree, with her spring blossoms and fiery fall colors, her cold grey winter hibernation, is mere reactivity. Her \u2018joy\u2019 and \u2018brilliance\u2019 are our projections. The earth itself is mere reactivity. <\/p>\n
But we\u2026 We are always beyond ourselves. I am a philosopher because I am never satisfied with what I am<\/span>. The I am<\/span> that is accepted by people is imposed from the world: I am<\/span> a doctor, a painter, a father, and so on. Really<\/span>? That and nothing more? <\/p>\n Sartre tells us that it is from \u2018gaze of the other\u2019 that we first gain self-consciousness. This nothing new, as Hegel gave the same story one hundred and forty years prior. To gaze upon a man building a house is go gaze upon a \u2018house-builder\u2019. When one realizes he is seen as a \u2018house-builder\u2019 he will see himself as a \u2018house-builder\u2019; he will make an object of himself. He will act as he believes a house-builder ought to act and the objectification will be reinforced as others see him presenting himself as a \u2018house-builder\u2019.<\/p>\n I was good at accounting in high school, and for this was reinforced as an accountant. My future then was as being<\/span> an accountant, and the significance of my past was that it had led to accounting. If I were to write a short autobiography then, it would have included the lessons in fractions and division give to me by my brother when I was six and he twelve; my being singled out through perfect standardized test scores in grade and middle schools; and so on. <\/p>\n But now the story I tell myself, of myself, is that of a philosopher, or a Buddhist<\/a>. It is still only a story, and when I forget this I cease to be spontaneous, open, creative. I become an object and merely react. <\/p>\n
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