“What are men to rocks and mountains?” If you were to tell this to any of my close friends, they would say I’ve probably said it before, but that I definitely have no idea who said it. They’re partially right; I know it’s from “Pride and Prejudice,” a book I haven’t read, but one that is still among the many pieces of literature, film, or art where I learn of ideas that I find interesting. But am I ruining the value of these works by taking away fragments of ideas I may not fully understand?
Those who know me best know that I place (maybe too much) importance on the works of fiction or nonfiction that have come before me. I steal, though I prefer the term borrow, whatever interesting thoughts or concepts I come across. When I pass it on to others, my decision to say or not say where I’ve heard this thought or concept is completely arbitrary. But what have I lost by taking ideas from so many places?
In my last four years, I’ve come to various conclusions about the answer to what we are to rocks and mountains. I’ve fluctuated anywhere between my existence meaning nothing to rocks and mountains, to my existence meaning everything to them. I’ve believed in many ideas these four years. I’ve believed ideas both in times of isolation and in times of joy. I’ve believed in ideas trying to conform to, as well as oppose, society. I’ve believed many ideas learned from many places, but have I made any beliefs of my own?
I’m not sure I can ever know if what I believe is really my own, or if I truly believe it anyway. But through this process of reflecting on my beliefs, I think I have learned something. I’ve come to realize and accept that my opinions and answers to life’s questions will actually always be changing. Eventually, I will read all of “Pride and Prejudice,” and when I do, it will be the right time for me to do so. Going through four years of high school, I believe that when I believe something “new,” it’s because now is the time I’m meant to. Whether it’s a stolen idea or something I think I’ve made on my own, my ideas contain little parts of everything that has ever made an imprint on me, with my own features too. And I believe this because otherwise, living with myself is completely impossible.
