Do you fear being finite?
I don’t mean mortal. Rather, your abilities within your mortality: what qualities you have to express, what concepts to inject into the human collection’s greater mass.
Do you ever fear running out? As if you have a discrete count of contributions, and then you can do, give, no more. Or else that you have a single perspective on the world, which once you’ve adequately shared, all you have left to do is to reiterate and rederive and rehash. That if you keep reaching, you’ll break through a blockade, a membrane, everything beyond desolate or inert? That if you keep digging, all you’ll find is a cellophane-wrapped void?
That once you reach the crescendo, all you’ll have left to do is to mimic—a repetitive cog (finite but cyclical) your tangent of velocity pointing to bleaker surroundings as you keep chasing…something? Because you don’t have enough yourself.
You’re running, except every step, you don’t know if you’ll pull your foot through in time to intercept the ground. You’d rather run than walk, but walking seems more sensible; your stepping more sure, less pounding impact; the destination, across time, more distant. Why run?
Back to the initial question: do you ever fear you’re finite? Or not even that?
This question is in the General Section. Responses must be helpful and on-topic.