Existentialism tells me that life has no predefined path, that meaning isn’t handed to us but forged through our choices. Illusions presents a different kind of freedom... one that suggests reality itself bends to belief. This idea unsettled me. If the world is an illusion, then what of suffering? What of pain? I’ve had my share of losses, of moments where control felt like an illusion in itself. If I had the power to change my reality, then why couldn’t I undo those moments? Why couldn’t I will away pain, regret, or mistakes?
But maybe I was looking at it wrong. Maybe control isn’t about manipulating events but about shifting perspective. I’ve always felt at odds with the world, as if I were a spectator trying to make sense of an absurd play. What if I stopped trying to rationalize every twist in the plot and just played my part fully? What if freedom lies not in rewriting reality, but in embracing it without resistance?
There’s a line in the book that lingers: Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they’re yours. It reminded me of the countless times I’ve told myself, I can’t do this. This is just who I am. I am not built for this.
I’ve always struggled with self-doubt, not because I don’t believe in my abilities, but because I know how fragile belief itself can be. And yet, I’ve seen how the labels we give ourselves become self-fulfilling prophecies. I’ve lived it. The more I insist that I am introverted and reserved, the more I shrink from experiences that might prove otherwise. The more I say I am bad with numbers, the less I try to learn. Illusions didn’t give me a new revelation, but it did remind me that limitations are often choices we make without realizing.
One thing I’ve always struggled with is letting go--- of people, of relationships, of the idea that I can help someone if I just try hard enough. Donald Shimoda, the so-called messiah in the book, chooses to step away from saving others. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he understands that people will only change when they choose to.
I’ve had friendships where I poured my energy into trying to “wake” someone up, to help them see what I saw, to guide them toward growth. But existentialism has taught me that self-realization is a solitary journey. No one can do it for us. We have to come to our own reckoning, in our own time. Maybe the best thing we can do for others is to live our truths and let them find their own.
I won’t say Illusions changed my life, because no book truly does that. But it did make me pause. It made me reflect on the weight of belief, the illusions I’ve built around my identity, and the way I perceive control. Existentialism tells me life has no meaning except the one I create. Illusions suggests that reality itself is shaped by belief. Maybe they are not so different after all. Maybe the only real difference is whether I see life’s absurdity as a weight or a playground.
In the end, I don’t need to believe that reality bends to my will. But I do need to remember that I am the one who gives it meaning. And that, I suppose, is its own kind of magic.