“What does it mean to be ‘in the world’” I asked myself, with my philosopher’s hat on. Yes, yes, yes! That is the question. That is the thing to consider. The Big Thing in fact. The Big Question. Forget about all that other stuff! What does it mean, this thing called ‘being in the world’? I was delighted to have seized hold of the crucial question so decisively, so deftly, so firmly. You’re not getting away from me, I said to the question. By Jingo you’re not. So that was that. The task was at hand. This was the question I had to contend with. Yes indeed. This was it. But before very long I realized that I wasn’t getting anywhere with it. I was getting nowhere fast. I was getting nowhere in a hurry. I didn’t have the slightest clue as to what this thing called ‘being in the world’ meant. Not the foggiest. I didn’t even know how to go about approaching the question. How to engage with it. How to creep up on it, so to speak. The whole thing left me feeling like a total plonker so I decided I’d take my philosopher’s hat off again. Feck this I said. Screw this. Bugger this for a game of soldiers. I took my philosopher’s hat off, put it back in the bag, and instead I put on my ‘hat of a person who doesn’t give a shit about philosophy or any stuff like that’. I’ve got lots of hats in my bag, you see…






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