# Introduction: The Earliest Questions Is a philosopher born a philosopher? Does one enter into the world wondering *why*? Some people just seem more curious. They have a natural tendency to ponde big metaphysical and existential questions. Some of my favorites are: Is this the only reality? Is my life dictated by fate or will? Is my soul immortal or do I have a soul at all? Stopping to contemplate life has enriched the time I've spent on this orbiting rock that Carl Sagan so poignantly describes as "being suspended in a sunbeam." > [!question] The Memory Question > A common question I've been asked throughout my adolescence: *What's your earliest memory?* > > I love that question, even though at this point I believe all childhood memories become memories of memories—unless, on rare occasions, you remember some moment that had been forgotten until the point of remembering it. That's what I call spontaneous memory. Writing will do that—make you remember so many forgotten moments and how they made you feel. --- ## The Bee on the Porch The memory I consider to be my earliest recollection happened in pre-school. I was hanging out on the back porch of Richmond Town Pre-school, a small school I attended before kindergarten. Spring was in full bloom and most of the day was used for recreation. I was by myself on the porch, gazing out through the enclosed screen, when a bee landed on the opposite side right in front of my eyes. It had sharp yellow and black stripes with slender wings extending from its shoulders. The bee crawled upwards as I stared at it with perplexity. As a five-year-old boy, I was enchanted by this insect—and even more befuddled by the *experience* of experiencing the insect. > [!insight] Self-Awareness > It was this paradoxical moment where I was both my awareness and my awareness of my awareness. Like, *why was I there to see it?* > > Life, at that age, seemed to be an unfolding miracle, and It seemed I was playing some core role in it. The bee flew away. I shook off my trance and headed back inside to play with Lincoln logs. At five, my vocabulary wasn't what it is now, but this strange sense of wonder—I can't help but recollect it when I think about what drew me to philosophy, spirituality, and the search for truth in the first place. This memory left such a powerful impact on me that I don't think I would have ever been able to ignore that mysterious feeling of aliveness. --- ## Questions of Memory and Meaning Sometimes I wonder if I just make up memories to fit my narrative, or if a five-year-old boy could really have existential thoughts like the one I had when I saw that yellow jacket on the back porch of Richmond Town Pre-school. Maybe all children do. Maybe they don't. But as humans, we all share some inherent reason for being here—alive in space and time. > [!note] My Background > I was never exposed to philosophical thought or literature during my adolescence. Humanities wasn't a focus in my family or in my suburban culture. I was being bred to be a banker like my grandfather, or a laborer like my uncles. It wasn't until college that the limits of my understanding were shattered when I was introduced to Eastern philosophy, psychedelic drugs, and bohemian romance (in that order). Out of the concrete sidewalks of my suburban nature, a lotus would spring—from a seed that was likely planted many lifetimes ago. --- *Next: [[Ch 1. Church in childhood]]*