I was speaking to a chatbot the other day (because humans are stupid) and it told me (in response to a very directed prompt) that perhaps the way forward was for humans to give up trying to be better than AI at the things that they have so far thought of as being uniquely human achievements. Perhaps a Buddhism-flavoured religion of the future will be all about freeing oneself from this attachment to credit and accomplishment.

On the one hand, it feels like something a pseudo-utopian tech bro would say. On the other hand, even though I disagreed with the chatbot for practical reasons (writers need to be attached to credit to succeed professionally), I did somewhat entertain the notion of detachment. I sometimes sense a reality that is just beyond my reach – one where I am not writing to be read and don't care about people's approval or social validation or praise that I am a good writer. It feels like this reality exists out there but it is not the one I am in.

At this point in my career as a writer, at least some people read me because they like me as a person and not because they see merit in my words. I am not sure how I feel about that. Perhaps it is a natural progression from writer to celebrity (barf). Perhaps it is a sign of a bad creative economy. I don't know. But I do care. I care at least enough to want to be free from my own identity.

My identity which causes people to love or hate me. My identity built on top of the things I support and oppose and promote and outrage against. My identity built on top of the idea that I represent something greater than me. My identity that is attached to my name and chases me everywhere on the internet and sometimes into the real world as well. I see appreciation or disregard or hatred for it in people's eyes and a part of me wants to turn invisible and fly away and never be seen again because the weight of people's expectations can be crushing.

There is a creature inside me that weighs all the attention I get against some metric of success and judges it to be worth the risk. It speaks to me even now, saying that one day perhaps this blog can be a new vessel for my identity. Something which will bring fame and monetisation opportunities. I cringe of course.

But I also know that that creature is the creation of my circumstances and of the social media lifestyle that has enabled me to be what I am today. I used to be a boy sitting by the window writing in notebooks as it rained outside because it made me happy. Now I am a man who sits and thinks about writing but does not write because I worry if those who I write for will be happy when they read my words.

I want to be free.