Today I was reading about the extent to which societal influences control our behavior. From the Milgram experiments to abstract art, it appears that our species wavers strangely between submission and expression. We at once thirst for freedom and behave as though programmed automata. Our thoughts are a strange stew of originality and background noise, reverberations mistakes born forward through generations.
It made me think back to the presidential election, to the moment when I filled in the little circle that would cast my vote. Or when I decided that I would come to Carleton, major in Religion, and shave my head in Morocco.
Were these choices really mine?
How can one cultivate the strength and mental quietude to hear their own voice?
What is freedom, really?
As is often the case, I'm lacking a conclusion. It's raining, though, and the water is talking: "Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up," the drops whisper.
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