"I was young back then," I say, realizing how I've changed or grown.
Most of the times, answers are easy to come up with. Implementing any of them are hard. It's breaking a habit. Habits are not just rolling your eyes without thinking, or the coffee in the morning you crave for. They're not only the things that are somehow out of your control, but also the way you think. A mode of thinking is a tool, and it's hard to innovate a tool.
And when I come up with a new tool, actually start to use it, and master it, I look back and think, "I was young back then."
But there is no such thing as unqualified improvement, said Michael Oakeshott. All improvement is a change. And all improvements, even the most spectacular improvements, entail one common change; you are not in point A any more. You're at point B. And the biggest problem with this is that it's easy to forget how what point A was, after you go on to B2, B3, C, D, G, GK, AA, and so on. You lose track of your path. You forget who you were, whether good or bad. Then you're not connecting all the dots to see what beautiful path you've drawn from all this traveling and time. You're just a point. Point at another point, then to another point.
But even if you remember, there's no going back in connect-the-dots in life. If you're at point D, you can remember point A from the perspective of point D, but your attempt to go back would just be point AD. You just change, move on to another dot. Growth. Life.
But what I worry these days is that I don't want to forget these distressed days of mine. The days when I go, "what am I doing?" "what should I do?" "who am I?" "do I not have anything?" "what is the use of all this?" "what, what, what, what, why, why, why, why, how, how, how, how?" The point A in life to which I would one day look back and say, "I was young back then." Young. Innocent. Crazy. Lost. Hopeless. Powerful. Powerful. Powerful.
Not necessarily because I have love for everything I have right now. Not because of me. But for the people I will meet later on, the young people. So I can not only just tell them, "hey, this is what I did," but to understand them as closely as possible. To know how I was when I was their age, to know where I was exactly and what sort of thoughts I was distressed about and what choices I have made.
To share the wealth of wisdom that has been passed down to me. So I try to write, write, write, for this cursed burden. Instead of just being, enjoying the moment, or running away from the problems, I try to remember to write to remember. When I can't look back anymore.
To pass down a little bit of me. Remember me.
Mothagesso.
Most of the times, answers are easy to come up with. Implementing any of them are hard. It's breaking a habit. Habits are not just rolling your eyes without thinking, or the coffee in the morning you crave for. They're not only the things that are somehow out of your control, but also the way you think. A mode of thinking is a tool, and it's hard to innovate a tool.
And when I come up with a new tool, actually start to use it, and master it, I look back and think, "I was young back then."
But there is no such thing as unqualified improvement, said Michael Oakeshott. All improvement is a change. And all improvements, even the most spectacular improvements, entail one common change; you are not in point A any more. You're at point B. And the biggest problem with this is that it's easy to forget how what point A was, after you go on to B2, B3, C, D, G, GK, AA, and so on. You lose track of your path. You forget who you were, whether good or bad. Then you're not connecting all the dots to see what beautiful path you've drawn from all this traveling and time. You're just a point. Point at another point, then to another point.
But even if you remember, there's no going back in connect-the-dots in life. If you're at point D, you can remember point A from the perspective of point D, but your attempt to go back would just be point AD. You just change, move on to another dot. Growth. Life.
But what I worry these days is that I don't want to forget these distressed days of mine. The days when I go, "what am I doing?" "what should I do?" "who am I?" "do I not have anything?" "what is the use of all this?" "what, what, what, what, why, why, why, why, how, how, how, how?" The point A in life to which I would one day look back and say, "I was young back then." Young. Innocent. Crazy. Lost. Hopeless. Powerful. Powerful. Powerful.
Not necessarily because I have love for everything I have right now. Not because of me. But for the people I will meet later on, the young people. So I can not only just tell them, "hey, this is what I did," but to understand them as closely as possible. To know how I was when I was their age, to know where I was exactly and what sort of thoughts I was distressed about and what choices I have made.
To share the wealth of wisdom that has been passed down to me. So I try to write, write, write, for this cursed burden. Instead of just being, enjoying the moment, or running away from the problems, I try to remember to write to remember. When I can't look back anymore.
To pass down a little bit of me. Remember me.
Mothagesso.
