Some Brief Nonsense on Being and Becoming

The equation is simple:

(joey) + (notion) = (joey-and-notion-becoming-a-new-being/type-of-being). 

A + B = C.

Easy as pie.

So, my wife is pregnant.

Let's think about this for a moment before we move on.

(Think Here)

This means that I’m going to be a father.

This is very complicated.

Much like the concept of being itself is also very complicated.

Here’s what I mean:

(joey) + (going-to-be-a-father) = (New notion of joey-who-is-going-to-be-a-father)

I told you it was complicated. To use sort of Heideggerian lingo, the “entities” within each of the above parentheses are separate entities in and of themselves. I would say that each one is its own individual “being,” but this cannot be the case for the notion of going-to-be-a-father, such an entity hasn’t any actual being itself, (though many beings certainly have it!).

So, to simplify, just consider the parenthetical ingredients as what they truly are: variables.

Now, since the concepts of “joey” and “going-to-be-a-father” are two separate concepts, (concepts that I thought might be exclusive for much, much longer than it appears to be, well, happening) so it must follow that the result is also variable, though not a variable. You see, the result “joey-who-is-going-to-be-a-father” has to be a new being; a more responsible being, a more considerate being, a being who can forgive and forget, a being who can act as pillow or punching bag, a being who can offer comfort, support, and an occasional ass-whooping, a being who can negotiate, interrogate, and turn an occasional blind eye to a dumb choice or poor decision, arts of which I, this present joey, have mastered. This new being will have to consider a whole new universe of information, a universe that doesn't revolve around lil' ol' me. And this is where it gets complicated: Me is all I know.

New “entities” in their infancy tend toward and are prone to severe existential contemplation.

* * * * * * * * *

It will be interesting to reflect on these few words when my son or daughter is old, or old-er, or old enough, or whatever the hell. I can see myself now, pining to be the “me” I was however long ago, remembering how good it was or how different it was. Yet I can also see this new aged version of myself mocking the me of yesteryear for being so green, so damned naïve, (which sounds like something older me would say). I can pine and pine and pine, but the notion of joey-who-is-going-to-be-a-father will be old hat by then, for the joey-who-is-a-father will be an entity in and of himself.