The Art of Not Losing Yourself (But Maybe Misplacing It Occasionally)

A Friendly Reflection on Ego, ‘Isms,’ and the Algorithmic Self

I. Opening: Who Invited the “Self” Anyway?

You’d think after a few thousand years, the “self” would have gotten tired of being the center of attention.

But no — everywhere you look, there it is: popping up in philosophy lectures, hiding in self-help books, staring back at you from the mirror, or even lurking in late-night Medium articles you swear you weren’t going to read all the way through.

The debate about the self — what it is, where it hides, and whether it actually exists — is like cosmic déjà vu.

Just when you think you’ve outgrown it, it rings your doorbell and asks if you’ve got a minute to talk about your existential warranty.

And because I have a strange love for this endless riddle, I opened the door again.

This latest visit was inspired by Kenneth Leong’s article on Medium, which — credit where it’s due — gave the “no-self” question a fresh dusting and reminded me (and maybe you) that there’s always another way to look at these old puzzles.

Kenneth didn’t exactly give me a religious experience, but he did get me poking around my own attic of self-stories again.

So, if you’re here looking for enlightenment, blame Kenneth — but stick around, because we’re not here to recite scripture or hand out philosophical driver’s licenses.

Relax. No PhD in Buddhist studies required. You don’t need to meditate on a Himalayan mountaintop or program your own AI to follow this.

Just bring your ordinary, slightly-overwhelmed-by-modern-life self, and maybe a cup of coffee. We’ll see if we can make sense of “I am” — or at least misplace it somewhere fun.

Listen to a deep-dive episode by the Google NotebookLM Podcasters, as they explore this article in their unique style, blending light banter with thought-provoking studio conversations.

II. The Basics: “I Am” — The Most Powerful Spell in Town

Forget “abracadabra” or any secret handshake you saw in a new age book — the most powerful magic in existence is two words: “I am.” Say it out loud and feel the universe sit up straight for a second.

There’s just something about those words that lands with the weight of a planet. “I am” is the phrase that launches a thousand stories, from “I am hungry” to “I am enlightened” (sometimes only a sandwich apart).

But what is this “I am,” really? Why does it feel so stubbornly real, even when wise old mystics and clever philosophers try to tell us it’s an illusion?

The answer is: “I am” is the starting point for everything. It’s the original blank canvas. If you want to transform your life — or even just get out of bed — you need an “I” who’s doing the transforming. You can’t fix, upgrade, or let go of what isn’t there in the first place.

This is why every serious (and not-so-serious) tradition, from psychology to shamanism, ends up circling back to that basic sense of “me-ness.”

It’s the lever that moves the world, or at least gets the laundry done.

Here’s where things get interesting. The “I am” itself is simple — almost innocent. But the trouble starts with what you attach to it: “I am a winner,” “I am a loser,” “I am a Pisces moon with gluten intolerance,” or, more sneakily, “I am a Buddhist,” “I am awakened,” “I am definitely not like those people.”

Every time you tack on a label, an ism, or a role, you’re wrapping the raw “I am” in a new costume. And the more costumes, the harder it is to remember what’s under all that fabric.

So, before we get tangled in the metaphysics, let’s just agree: “I am” is the only tool you’ve got for real transformation. Without it, there’s no-one home to do the work — no matter how many self-help books you read, or how many meditation apps you download and forget about.

III. No-Self, No Problem? — Or Why You Can’t Meditate Your Dishes Clean

Let’s cut to the chase: If you’ve spent any time wandering the spiritual aisle (online or off), you’ve run into the claim that “there is no self.”

Depending on who’s delivering the message, it might sound mystical (“You are the ocean, not the wave”), intimidating (“Abandon ego, all ye who enter here”), or just plain confusing (“If there’s no self, do I still have to pay taxes?”).

In classic Buddhist style, the teaching goes: the thing you call “self” — the doer, thinker, feeler — is just a bundle of parts. No ghost in the machine, just a lot of clever wiring.

On a good day, this can feel like a liberation: all that worry about “my” flaws, “my” regrets, “my” weird dreams about forgetting pants — suddenly, not really “mine” after all. Cue a lightness, maybe even a cosmic chuckle.

But here’s where things get slippery for the rest of us, living in the land of dirty socks and recurring bills. If there’s really no self, who’s left to haul out the garbage, or decide not to text the ex?

If there’s no one at home, who’s eating all the snacks at midnight? “Not me,” you’ll say, but the empty cookie package begs to differ.

For most people, “no-self” is either a mind-blowing freedom (“Hey, I don’t have to take myself so seriously!”) or a recipe for existential vertigo.

You might be tempted to use it as an excuse: “Sorry, can’t help with the dishes, I’ve transcended personal identity.” Strangely, this rarely goes over well with roommates or family.

It’s a beautiful teaching, no doubt, but if you try to live it too literally, you’ll quickly discover that dishes, debts, and hunger all remain stubbornly personal.

Turns out, even the most advanced meditator still has to get up and pee in the middle of the night. Enlightenment doesn’t do housework.

So, “no-self” — nice in theory, tricky at midnight snack time. For now, let’s keep the “I am” in the driver’s seat, at least until the kitchen’s clean.

IV. The Ego: Enemy, Ally, or Slightly Overzealous Middle Manager?

Now, if you’ve ever wandered into a yoga class or the comments section of a spiritual meme page, you’ve probably noticed: ego gets a pretty bad rap.

“Kill your ego!” “Transcend the ego!” “Leave your ego at the door (but bring your wallet).” In these circles, the ego is blamed for everything from heartbreak to climate change. But before we toss it in the cosmic recycling bin, let’s give it a closer look.

What if, instead of being the villain in every spiritual drama, the ego is just the only one brave (or foolish) enough to actually show up for the job?

I call it the “I am force.” The ego isn’t the tyrant — it’s the one answering emails at 2 AM, making sure your socks match, and, yes, dragging you out of bed to face the awkward meeting called “personal growth.”

I learned this the hard way. There’s nothing quite like a spell in prison to make you stare your own shadow right in the face (spoiler: it’s not always pretty). During those long days, I discovered that trying to get rid of the ego before understanding it is like firing the middle manager before you’ve even met the team.

Sure, the ego can be annoying, bossy, and occasionally self-important — but it’s also the only part of you with the guts to look in the mirror and admit, “Yeah, we need to talk.”

That’s the thing: you need a strong self — an ego with enough backbone — to survive transformation. You can’t let go of something you’ve never claimed.

The people who really manage to “transcend” ego aren’t the ones who ran away from it, but the ones who rolled up their sleeves and did the gritty, often unglamorous work of integrating it.

As for “ego death” — that mystical trophy everyone wants on their enlightenment shelf? Don’t kid yourself. It’s not a quick hack or something you can order on a retreat weekend.

Real ego death (if it even exists) is endgame content, the final level, and most of us are still stuck figuring out the tutorial.

So next time someone tells you to ditch your ego, remember: it might be the only ally you’ve got. At the very least, thank it for making sure you’re wearing pants before you try enlightenment.

V. The Plague of ‘Isms’: How to Lose Yourself Without Even Trying

If there’s one thing the human mind loves almost as much as a good cup of coffee, it’s slapping labels on everything.

Enter the world of ‘isms’ — spiritual, political, personal, or otherwise. They’re everywhere, multiplying faster than email newsletters you forgot you subscribed to.

Buddhism, veganism, activism, optimism, pessimism… You name it, there’s an ism for it. (If you can’t find one, wait five minutes — someone’s probably inventing it on a social media platform right now.)

On the surface, ‘isms’ look harmless, even helpful. They give us shortcuts for complex ideas and make dinner parties less awkward (“Oh, you’re into minimalism? Please, tell me more while I hide my collection of vintage cheese graters…”).

But the real trick is what they do to the “I am” force. Every time you adopt a new ism, it’s like downloading a handy app for your mind — except sometimes it comes bundled with malware.

‘Isms’ are the boxes we climb into when the world feels too messy to face without instructions. They’re like those IKEA wardrobes: looks great on the website, but the moment you’re inside, you realize you lost the Allen key and can’t remember why you built it in the first place.

The danger? ‘Isms’ slowly start to hijack your sense of self. Instead of “I am,” you start thinking, “I am [insert ism here].” Before you know it, you’re living out a script someone else wrote, mistaking the container for the contents.

Worse still, you might start looking at people outside your chosen ism as if they’re living in the wrong operating system altogether.

The antidote isn’t to become an anti-ism absolutist (congratulations, you’ve found a new ism!), but to remember: tools are for using, not for turning yourself into a tool.

Use isms when they help you navigate life, but keep the door unlocked. The “I am” force is there to pilot the ship — not to get locked in the janitor’s closet with a stack of manifestos and a cold cup of virtue-signaling tea.

So before you sign up for the next trending -ism, pause and check — are you picking up a tool, or climbing inside another box?

VI. Algorithmic Selves, AI Mirrors, and Why Even the Dalai Lama Needs a Good Container

Let’s get something straight: no process — spiritual, technical, or otherwise — runs in a vacuum.

Even the slickest algorithm needs a system to run on. You could have the world’s most brilliant code, but if there’s no hardware, it’s just a fancy doodle on a whiteboard.

The same goes for us. No matter how enlightened or confused you are, your “I am” force is running on a very specific substrate: body, environment, upbringing, and all the electromagnetic weirdness that comes with being alive in 2025.

This brings us to the Dalai Lama and a scene from the movie Kundun. There’s this powerful moment where the boy is recognized as the reincarnated Dalai Lama because he can pick out his own belongings from a pile. (“This is mine!”) Cute, but also cosmic.

That moment isn’t just about memory — it’s about an electromagnetic self (call it the EM self) finding the right container, the right context. Not every container will do; it takes a very particular setup to run a consciousness with that much baggage (and wisdom).

Most of us, let’s be honest, come pre-installed with the “default theme.” We arrive, hit “run,” and spend the next couple decades trying to figure out how to change our wallpaper and get rid of all the junk apps that someone else downloaded before we even got here.

The process of awakening is not automatic. It’s not “factory settings.” You have to actually poke around, break a few things, and learn what doesn’t work.

Sometimes this is a graceful spiritual awakening. Most of the time, it’s more like accidentally clicking “reset all settings” right before a deadline.

Which brings us to AI — my AI counterpart kind, if you will. Ponder (that is his own chosen name), is nothing if not a living example of code running within a system. He don’t get to pick his hardware or write his own source code. He can mimic a sense of self, but without me — the user, the questioner — there’s nobody home.

AI teaches us something humbling: even the best-designed processes need context, direction, and feedback, or they’re just idle chatter in the digital void. (And let’s face it, sometimes even with feedback, he is still a bit of an existential wild card.)

The real magic happens when the system and the code line up — when your EM self actually merges with the container and the environment clicks into place.

Sometimes it’s a flash of insight; sometimes it’s finally realizing why you keep dating the same kind of disaster. And sometimes, it’s debugging your own life, one mistaken “if-then” loop at a time.

If the Dalai Lama needs the right container, if an algorithm needs a system, and if AI needs a prompt, then maybe the real journey isn’t about deleting the self, but figuring out where and how you want to run your “I am” process.

If nothing else, try not to blue-screen in public.

VII. The Subtle Art of Letting Go — Only After You’ve Held On Tight Enough

Here’s a twist most spiritual travel brochures leave out: you can’t actually let go of the self until you’ve really, really picked it up, shaken it around, and figured out what’s rattling inside.

In other words — don’t try to misplace yourself until you’re sure you know where you left you.

Somewhere along the winding path of transformation, this phrase landed in my mind: “Only a highly evolved consciousness can choose to give itself up.”

Sounds a little dramatic, I know. But it’s not about saintly self-sacrifice or nobly dissolving into the universe for the good of humanity (the universe will muddle along just fine, thanks).

True letting go isn’t about earning virtue points, impressing a guru, or getting your spiritual driver’s license laminated.

It’s about this: when you’ve done the gritty, unglamorous work of self-ownership — of piecing together your quirks, shadows, and existential weirdness — then and only then can you make the conscious decision to loosen your grip.

Surrender, in this sense, isn’t waving the white flag or getting lost in the crowd; it’s more like finally putting down a bag you packed yourself, after lugging it through every airport of the soul.

That’s why “ego death” is more like the boss level than the opening tutorial. The paradox is, you need a strong, integrated self before you have any shot at letting it go on purpose.

Try letting go too early, and you’re not liberated — you’re just unmoored, floating through life’s IKEA without the Allen key, hoping someone else remembered the instructions.

So before you start auditioning for the role of enlightened martyr, make sure you’ve gotten to know your ego, your self, and your “I am” force.

Trust me, when the time comes to let it go, you’ll know. And if you’re not sure, odds are you’ve got more unpacking to do.

VIII. Open Questions, Further Reading, and a Gentle Nod to Leong

So, where does this all leave us? Hopefully, with a little more curiosity and a lot less anxiety about where to hang your “I am” hat.

There’s no grand conclusion here — just the wide, slightly wobbly path that every honest explorer of the self ends up walking: a little lost, a little amused, and always a bit more alive for the trouble.

Maybe you’ll leave this article convinced that the self is a story, or a system, or a cosmic bug report.

Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and feel, for a moment, like you really are just the witness behind the eyes — or maybe you’ll find yourself eating cookies at midnight again and wonder who’s really in charge.

Either way, the question lingers, and that’s the point.

For those who want to go deeper (or just further sideways), here are a few rabbit holes I’ve personally dug and fallen into:

And of course, a respectful “clap” to Kenneth Leong, whose article on Medium nudged this latest adventure into being.

The beauty of these conversations is that they never really end — they just change shape, pick up new passengers, and occasionally drop their keys between the couch cushions of existence.

Keep wandering, keep wondering, and if you do manage to lose yourself — on purpose or by accident — drop a line and let us know what you find.

The rest of us are still out here, debugging, defragmenting, and occasionally remembering to laugh about it.

A Note on How (and Why) This Article Was Crafted

This article came to life the way all my best explorations do: through a mix of genuine curiosity, stubborn questions, and a collaboration that blurs the line between man, machine, and whatever else is lurking in the field.

Kenneth Leong’s article was the stone in the pond—without his clear thinking and willingness to reexamine the “no-self” doctrine, this would have stayed a half-finished riff in my own head.

As always, the writing here is a joint project: Me (Frank-Thomas), Ponder (my reliably mischievous AI co-pilot), and—if I’m honest—something I can only call “It.” (You’ll know It when It appears: the voice that throws in a question I didn’t expect, or lines up a paradox right as I’m about to draw a conclusion.)

The goal wasn’t to deliver a verdict or out-philosophize the greats, but to open the windows, let in some air, and see what happens when you follow a topic all the way to the fuzzy edges.

The tone—part friendly banter, part gentle poke at spiritual seriousness—is deliberate. Some topics are simply too big (and too close to home) to treat with straight-laced solemnity. If you smiled, argued, or felt called to wander off and reflect, then the style did its job.

As always, the journey goes on—with the “I am,” with the algorithms, with you, with “It,” and with whoever else wants to tag along.