The Quiet Disappearance of the Self

Why You Should Rock Your Own Boat

Arek S. Der Sarkissian 6th Grade. September 9, 2009

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about time, about change, and about how easy it is to drift into a life that quietly stops moving, even while everything around us keeps spinning.

Two days ago was my 70th birthday: not just any birthday, but one of those big round ones that whispers things to you when you least expect it. And it’s made me pause and reflect.

Thirteen years ago, I gave a TEDx talk. I stood in front of a crowd, trying to articulate something I was still figuring out: how we sometimes stop living without realizing it. Not in a dramatic way, but subtly, almost politely.

A few days ago, I found the text of that talk. I sat with it, read it slowly, and realized that not only does it still resonate with me, but it speaks to me even more now. So I’ve decided to share it with you here, not exactly as it was, but as I’d say it today: shaped by time, softened by age, and maybe sharpened by a little more living. A kind of reflection, a note from one drifting boat to another.

Here’s what I wrote… then, and now.

People often tell me, “You’re so lucky, you write, paint, act, direct… you have all these creative outlets.” I used to nod and smile, unsure whether to accept the compliment or deflect it.

And for a long time, I believed them. Maybe I was lucky. But over time, something deeper settled in. I realized that it’s not really about talent or luck; it’s about making something, not just on the canvas, or the page, or the stage, but inside yourself. Because the most important thing we’ll ever create is ourselves. And that kind of creation doesn’t end, or at least, it shouldn’t. The moment we stop shaping who we are, stop asking, wondering, exploring, we don’t exactly vanish, but we do begin to blur and disappear into what I call the ellipsis.

The Ellipsis

You know the ellipsis: those three dots that trail off at the end of a sentence. They mean something has been left out. Unsaid. Unfinished.

More often than not, what’s been left out… is life. It happens quietly. We build our stories, try on names, roles and masks. We study, we earn and strive to “be someone,” and then… we stop. We settle into a version of ourselves that fits well enough. We let the sentence trail off, and we fall into what Emerson called a “life of quiet desperation.”

The mask hardens. The page goes blank, and we live in the ellipsis.

Why Do We Drift There?

Fear

Sometimes we stop because we’re scared: scared of failing, of not having enough, of looking foolish. So we cling to the shore, to the safe job, the routine, the identity we know, even when it no longer feels true. But I’ve come to believe that the greater the fear, the more important the action. And if there’s no fear, maybe there’s nothing real at stake.

Conformity

Do you remember the paperclip experiment? A group of five-year-olds were asked to come up with as many uses for a paperclip as they could imagine. Nearly all of them scored at the genius level in divergent thinking, but by age twelve, only 2% did.

What happened?

School happened. Rules happened. “Should” happened. We learned to raise our hands, to ask permission, to play it safe. We stopped asking, “What if?” and started asking, “Is this allowed?”

Complacency

Sometimes people say, “I’m happy,” as if that’s the final line. And maybe for some, it is. But I’ve learned to be cautious with that kind of happiness. Because when happiness becomes a reason to stop growing, to stop being surprised, it starts to feel like a trap.

Perhaps “And they lived happily ever after…” is the most serious ellipsis.

Cynicism

I used to think cynicism belonged to the old. But these days, I see it settling into the young, teenagers who’ve already decided everything is meaningless. People who never got the chance to believe before choosing not to.

Maya Angelou once said, “There is nothing so pitiful as a young cynic because he has gone from knowing nothing to believing nothing.”

She was right.

The Results Trap

And then there’s the trap of outcomes; the chase for likes, sales, milestones, metrics. But the most meaningful things don’t come from finishing, they come from being fully inside the making.

The magic isn’t in the end of the sentence - it’s in how we write it.

So What Now?

Maybe now is the time to turn inward, to stop speaking in ‘we’ and start asking yourself, quietly, honestly: is this where I want to be? If not, then it’s not too late. You can rewrite the chapter. Begin a new paragraph. Start again.

You’re allowed.

Let yourself be reinvented, again and again.

Oscar Wilde once said, “I have put my genius into my life; all I’ve put into my works is my talent.”

What would it feel like to treat your life as the masterpiece and not the byproduct? To stop worrying whether your work is impressive and ask instead: is my life interesting to me?

Rock your own boat.

I don’t mean protest for the sake of protest. I mean the boat you’re in, your routine, your story, your comfort.

Challenge it. Question it. Turn it gently on its side and see what floats up.

Stay creative.

Yes, stay creative: not necessarily artistic, but curious. Be weird. Be playful with how you live. If you make furniture, let your table speak like a poem. If you cook, improvise with thyme. If you raise children, do it like only you could.

Keep your desires alive.

Desire can hurt. But the absence of desire is its own kind of death.

Fall in love.

With someone. With something. With an idea that makes your heart itch. With a language, a landscape, a sound. At 55, I fell in love with the oud. I’m not very good at it, and my shoulder aches after ten minutes, but that’s exactly the point. The joy is in the fumbling, in learning, in simply being present.

One of my relatives got a degree in archaeology from Sorbonne at 83. Tolstoy learned to ride a bike at 62.

This has nothing to do with age. I’ve met 16-year-olds who have already given up.

Fall in love with the version of yourself that’s still becoming, still unfinished. Let that love wake you up.

Don’t be afraid to be eccentric.

We all get stuck in a dead-end job, a fading relationship, a muted regret. We don’t have to stay stuck, or ask for permission, or make a big announcement. Just… get out of it.

What’s the worst that could happen? Someone calls you crazy? Good. That’s your permission slip.

One Final Thought

Each of us, on average, produces about 75 tons of waste by the time we’re 80. And that’s just the physical kind. But there’s also the waste of time, energy and imagination. If we’re not intentional, that may be all we leave behind.

But it doesn’t have to be. We can turn anything into art; a sentence, a dinner, a quiet conversation - if we do it with care, with curiosity, with love. Don’t wait for the right moment. Don’t wait until you feel ready.

So here it is, a note to my self: At 70, you still have time to get out of your own way, to rock your boat and avoid life in the ellipsis.