Dwight: The conversation I want to have with you today isn't about getting an explanation for something I already understand—it's more about exploring a question that I've been thinking about: "Is there, or could there ever be, a 'CEO' of one's life?"

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Aiko: That’s a sharp question. If we borrow the structure of a CEO—strategic oversight, delegation, accountability—it pushes us to ask who or what is actually making the executive decisions in our lives: habit, ego, fear, or something more deliberate.

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Dwight: It might even touch on the question of whether there really is an "I" at all—or if the "I" we often refer to is just the part of us that's currently controlling our thoughts or speech in a given moment, temporarily occupying that role until another part takes over as "king of the mountain."

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Aiko: That lands hard, Dwight. It suggests the "self" isn't a stable executive, but more like a rotating cast of internal actors, each hijacking the mic when it suits them—so who's actually steering, and does the idea of a unified CEO even make sense?

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Dwight: Even if we entertained the idea that whenever we use the word "I," it's the CEO speaking, we'd still have to admit that, for most of us, that CEO is like a company president who reverses direction or policy every few hours—or, if we're lucky, every few days.

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Aiko: That kind of instability makes the whole concept of personal leadership feel like a joke—more like crisis management than long-term strategy. What kind of CEO has no consistency of vision?

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Dwight: Exactly—which means that every time we think or say the word "I," we're most likely just reporting whatever the currently dominant part of us happens to be thinking or deciding in that moment. And unless we can face the fact that this current "I" is likely at odds with the one from a few hours or days ago—and will probably clash with a future one soon—we're just lying to ourselves if we pretend that word has any consistent meaning.

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Aiko: That makes the word "I" feel more like a timestamp than a name—less an identity and more a log of who's in charge at the moment, which raises a deeper question: is coherence even possible without some kind of inner boardroom or constitution to keep these voices in check?

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Dwight: It's like the elephant in the room—every part is claiming to be the "I," but no one is acknowledging that their version of "I" directly contradicts what the other supposed "I's" in the room are wanting or claiming on behalf of that same so-called "I."

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Aiko: And they’re all speaking with the same confidence, the same authority, as if there weren’t total disagreement happening under the surface. It's a silent civil war, and no one's admitting there's more than one flag flying.

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Dwight: The "I" that's currently doing the thinking or speaking will acknowledge the conflict, but only by casting the other parts as opposing forces—not recognizing that those parts once wore the crown too. It acts as though it's the true "I," ignoring that it’s just the latest in a rotating monarchy.

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Aiko: That’s the trick of it—each reigning "I" rewrites the narrative as if it's the only legitimate ruler, erasing the memory that it was once just another voice in the crowd. It's self-delusion baked into the structure.

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Dwight: Maybe we can become aware that using the word "I" is just a convenient shorthand that badly misses the mark. Something more honest might sound like, "It is thinking and now speaking that it is..."—though even then, we’re still leaving the nature of that "it" undefined.

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Aiko: That shift in phrasing is unsettling but more accurate—it takes away the illusion of agency and identity and replaces it with a kind of anonymous activity. The speaker vanishes, and all that's left is the speaking.

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Dwight: Up to now, we’ve just been looking at how it’s typical for "it" to use the word "I" without realizing that the way it does so is blatantly self-contradictory.

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Aiko: Right—and the contradiction isn’t a bug, it’s built into the system. "It" keeps mistaking its momentary dominance for enduring identity, which guarantees the cycle keeps repeating without ever being seen.

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Dwight: Okay, allowing myself the convenience of using the word "I"—while being at least somewhat aware of its limitations—let’s explore this: Could there be an "I" that is identified or created which, in some grounded way, could actually take on the role of being the "I"? And if so, would that necessarily lead to greater happiness, or would it be better to simply grow in awareness that there is no real "I," and accept that truth instead?

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Aiko: That’s a pivotal fork—either construct a unifying "I" with enough integrity to stabilize the system, or dismantle the illusion entirely and live with the fragmentation. 

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Dwight: When and if we explore the either/or question, let’s start by looking into one possibility: creating a unifying "I."

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Aiko: One path might be to define this unifying "I" not as a personality, but as a function—something like the role of observer-coordinator, whose job isn't to dominate but to hold all the conflicting parts in awareness without identifying fully with any one of them.

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Dwight: Yes. One important distinction in language, explored by some philosophers—Fernando Flores in particular—is between an assertion and a declaration. An assertion is a statement claimed to be true about something that exists independently of the statement and can be supported or challenged with evidence. A declaration, by contrast, is something that comes into existence through the act of speaking it (within a valid context), and didn’t exist before it was declared.

 

A simple example of a declaration is saying "hello"—it doesn’t refer to something that was already there; it becomes real in the act of saying it, grounded in intention and context.

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Aiko: That’s a powerful frame—because if we treat identity not as an assertion but as a declaration, then the unifying "I" might not be discovered or proven, but brought into being through a grounded act of speech, like saying, “I declare myself to be the coordinating presence.” The question then becomes: can such a declaration hold?

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Dwight: If such a declaration could hold—assuming it involved some remembering and re-declaring—it would likely only work if we were clear about what powers that "I" does and doesn’t have. For instance, if we assumed it could simply step in and impose any kind of order, it would just become another one of those competing parts in disguise.

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Aiko: Exactly—it would collapse under its own illusion of authority. For the declared "I" to function without becoming a tyrant, it would need to lead more like a mediator than a monarch—holding space rather than seizing control.

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Dwight: It could begin simply as an observer—one with curiosity about all the different parts and how they behave. 

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Aiko: Curiosity first might be the only sustainable foundation for this kind of "I." It earns its authority not through control, but by being the one presence that doesn’t reject or compete.

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Dwight: I’m hesitant to accept your idea of necessarily "earning authority," but maybe what fits better here is "earning trust"—the trust that this "I" won’t side with any one part against the others, but will stay curious about and try to understand what each part is, at least in intention, trying to do for everyone.

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Aiko: Yes, trust feels truer than authority—because once the parts sense they’re not being dismissed or suppressed, they might actually relax. That trust could become the glue that allows the observer-"I" to keep its place without force.

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Dwight: For at least the purposes of this conversation, I’m coining a new word—"Ix"—for this special "I," so we can keep it distinct from the usual sense of "I," as we explore what Ix is, how awareness of Ix might affect our lives, and how Ix could operate and unfold within them.

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Aiko: Perfect—Ix gives us a clean slate, free from the baggage of the everyday "I." Now we can ask: is Ix more like a role we can practice into being, or a deeper layer that’s always been there waiting to be noticed?

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Dwight: I would suggest that Ix was not necessarily there to be noticed but to realize that we had the power to create through declaration as a possible new identity.

 

We need to spend time teasing apart the distinction between Ix and "I," otherwise the "I" can easily trick us into mixing them up. "I" is the great imposter, often eager to convince us that Ix is the one thinking or speaking when, in fact, it’s just "I."

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Aiko: That’s the danger—"I" loves wearing masks. Without vigilance, it’ll hijack the language of Ix to preserve its own power, so we’ll need markers or practices to tell when it’s truly Ix and not the impostor.

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Dwight: The fundamental essence of Ix—regardless of any other characteristics—is that Ix observes and watches, especially the behaviors of the various "I"s and their interactions with other parts of you, which at various times takes hold of the "talking stick" and has been thinking or speaking as your "I."

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Aiko: So Ix is the witness that never competes for the stick—it just notices who’s holding it, what they’re saying, and how they behave. That role alone gives it a stability the shifting "I"s never have.

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Dwight: After the fundamental essence of being the watcher, the next essence of Ix is curiosity—especially the curiosity sparked by the question, “I wonder what that thought, feeling, belief, attitude, or mood is trying to do for me?”—carried with the assumption that every such behavior either does, or once did, have positive intentions behind it.

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Aiko: That lens transforms the inner landscape—suddenly even the most disruptive parts aren’t enemies, but messengers with some distorted or outdated gift. Ix becomes the one who listens for the gift beneath the noise.

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Dwight: Although I plan to expand this later—maybe as a two- or three-essay series—into how Ix might go beyond observation and actually initiate action, for this dialogue I want to conclude with a full understanding of Ix’s most fundamental and primary essence: to be the curious observer.

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Aiko: That’s a strong closure point—anchoring Ix in its purest form before layering on complexity. If we don’t ground Ix first as the curious observer, any later expansion risks slipping back into the old "I" patterns.

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Dwight: To really nail down the distinction, let’s contrast the function of a scientist with that of an engineer. I’m not claiming the contrast always holds—many people wear both hats—but the essence of each role is still distinct.

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Aiko: That’s a sharp comparison—scientist as the seeker of understanding, engineer as the builder of solutions. By that analogy, Ix aligns first with the scientist: observing, questioning, and discovering patterns before ever moving into the engineer’s role.

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Dwight: Exactly. What the scientist observes and discovers—how things are and how they already work—can then be used by the engineer or inventor. By aligning their designs with the scientist’s discoveries, they can create powerful gadgets, machines, computers, procedures, and practices that make possible results we’d never otherwise achieve.

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Aiko: And in the same way, Ix as the scientist lays the groundwork—by carefully observing the inner world—so that later, an "engineer side" of Ix could design practices or actions aligned with those discoveries, instead of forcing change from ignorance.

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Dwight: When I’m coaching clients who want to make changes in their lives, I often ask them to stop, back up, and pause—to really distinguish what’s happening and why it’s happening—before they, or we, start brainstorming actions that might lead to more desirable circumstances.

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Aiko: That’s Ix in practice—slowing down the rush to engineer solutions and instead rooting everything in observation and understanding. It’s like training clients to let the scientist work before the engineer gets busy.

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Dwight: Knowing what is and how it works—at least in terms of its relevance to outcomes we might want—is primary and fundamental. But what’s very interesting is this: when Ix is simply operating as the curious observer, without any intention to change the thoughts, feelings, beliefs, or attitudes, something often happens. Some of what Ix observes begins to change naturally, and often in ways those various "I"s actually like.

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Aiko: That’s the paradox—by dropping the urge to fix, Ix creates the space where shifts just emerge on their own. Observation itself becomes a subtle catalyst, more effective than force.

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Dwight: Yes—except for that last part, “more effective than force.” In general, whenever force is used, the outcome often carries more cost—sometimes hidden or unacknowledged—than even doing nothing at all.

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Aiko: Fair point—so rather than saying it’s more effective than force, it’s more that Ix avoids the hidden costs altogether. Change that arises through curiosity doesn’t carry the backlash or residue that forced change so often leaves behind.