#122 You Are Not a Continuation. You Are a Series of Strangers

You call it your life. But ask yourself what you actually possess of it. A few vivid scenes. A handful of sensations. The rest was filled in later — from photographs, from other people's accounts, from the stories you needed in order to feel continuous.

A man who cannot remember his own walking thinks he has traveled far. He has only been carried.

And the worst part is not that the thread broke. It is that you kept walking anyway, speaking confidently, pointing to a map that was never yours. Continuity is not a fact. It is a performance. And most of us are performing for an empty theater.