"Knowing thyself is the beginning of wisdom." - Socrates, or maybe Aristotle, or maybe someone else entirely, but whoever it was, they've been dead a looooong time, so I think I've acknowledged that it wasn't me, and thus... I've done my due diligence.

Alright, on with today's musing.

Today, I'm at the tail end of a mini-writing retreat. That is, someone close to me invited me to visit their house up in the Sierras as a chance of pace to maybe help revitalize me. It's been grand. I've gotten some decent work done on The Sharpened Edge of Fate, Tears of Rage book 5. It's also giving me some trouble, because I introduced a character that wasn't originally in the series at the end of Dance Among the Lightning Bolts. I'm juggling how I can interweave this character into the narrative without scrapping too much of it. Oh, yeah, and I have a couple of extra gods that I introduced in As Fugitive as the Wind, but that's getting off course.

I was deep in thought about this during breakfast. Deep, DEEP in thought. Like that creative zone where everything else fades away. I put my head in my hands and let out a great big sigh, the kind I do when I'm either getting close to a solution that is just out of reach, or I have no idea how I'm going to juggle everything I've got going on in a project.

One of the people at the table asked if I was okay. I lifted my head and noticed a tension at the table that hadn't been there before. Seems to outside appearances, I'd just spiraled down into a depressive labyrinth where bits of my soul had shredded away. Not being in my head, one of the other people at the table thought that something they'd said triggered me. I explained what was going on, and that seemed to settle the matter.

At first, I found it amusing.

At second, I grew concerned.

How many times have I been out and about, hanging with friends, when thoughts of writing come along, and my natural expressions and mannerisms in those moments have made my friends, family, or people hanging out in my spaces think that something is terribly wrong with me? I don't have an answer to that, as I'm too busy being in my experience in those moments. However, it's worth contemplating and being aware that it's something I do -- especially considering how often I'm thinking deeply about writing in spaces where I'm interacting with other writing professionals and/or readers.

I am now dubbing this thing I do as... depressed asshole face, since apparently, this isn't the first time I've done that.

So, if you've ever been present for my depressed asshole face when I'm just thinking about a writing conundrum, I apologize. I can imagine how uncomfortable that might be.

In the bigger picture, I'm musing on what other weird expressions and mannerisms I exhibit in other moods that don't accurately reflect those moods. I am aware that I wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I'd always thought that my emotions on display accurately represented internal emotions or thoughts. What a trippy thing to discover about myself, all with no real way to gauge any of this. It's not like I can see myself in these moments, and I totally get why people around me don't check in to see what's going on. Who wants to open the floodgates of Gallowglas in the midst of depressed asshole face.

It's a fascinating conundrum. I am now logically aware of this thing that I do that puts people into various spots on the "weirds people out" scale. On the other side of that coin, I have no idea how to go about working on this, as I'm not emotionally aware of it enough to examine it when it happens. More than that, I'm completely unaware of other physical manifestations of my thoughts and emotions that might also be off-putting for those around me who experience them.

"The only wisdom is knowing that you know nothing." - Socrates

What a juxtaposition. To know yourself is to be wise. To be wise is to acknowledge a lack of knowing.

This one is going to plague me for a while -- especially in this self-exploration to reign in my depressed asshole face and other possible expressions that put people off. And this also raises questions about other parts of myself about which I remain wholly ignorant.

Which makes me consider Polonius's line from Hamlet, "To thine own self be true." If we're going to be true to ourselves, we must know ourselves. However, we're so wrapped up in being ourselves that we often don't take the time to ruminate upon ourselves. Thus, being wise and unwise all at the same time.

AAAAAAHHHH!!! Now, I'm just spiraling further and further into this thought experiment, and my brain is about to explode. The low-key altitude sickness isn't helping any. I'm definitely wise enough to know that I'm not going to resolve any of this in a musing post to my website.

I guess today, we all know Gallowglas a little better. We'll figure out what we're going to do with that knowledge another day.