What do you think?
Rate this book
112 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 16, 2020
"I believe the only difference between the philosophers that are in books or on panels and the philosopher in everyone's head is the same difference between the singers on the radio and the singer in every car singing along. It's not as if everyone doesn't feel the same yearning to sing, but some people are just better at understanding the music theory and making it sound good."
"I am not sure if conscious life is a gift, a curse, or both. To love is to lose. To think and try is to fail. To live is to die. But is it better to have done all the above, than to have not? I think it's possible. But I also think that such a possibility creates the tragedy of life. That living and loving and trying can be so wonderous and potent and beautiful that they're all worth their inevitable, tragic doom. And that such an unbelievably high level of wonderousness creates an unfathomably tragic level of doom.
How can something so tragic be so beautiful? How can something so cruel be so fair? How can someone hate and love the same thing with all their being at the same time?"
I wonder now how many days I wasted thinking I wasted days? How many days I made bad for no reason other than thinking they were bad, overlooking how good I could have made them by simply recognizing how good they already were?
In an effort to say the right things, we often avoid saying the real things. Which are usually the right things. You become a photo of a photo of a photo of yourself. A low-res, synthetic version, void of whatever uniqueness that makes you worthwhile and interesting and capable of enriched connection.
Good friendship forms out of those who know themselves well enough to create and maintain good friendship. The person who has yet to find any comfort in themselves will gnaw and pull at others in hopes of finding it, forming a sort of addictive dependency on their relationships in which they put the weight of their own wellbeing on the shoulders of others, which no good friendship can come from.
An idle mind is the devil’s workshop, so they say. Which is also to say that one’s being, in its most basic, fundamental condition, is that of anguish. That to sit with one’s self, alone with one’s thoughts, is to experience the nausea of existing as one’s self. It’s as if instead of becoming nauseous from motion in life, we become nauseas from motionlessness. Thus, our default mode is misery, and everything is but an effort of distraction.
Of course, in the act of creating, expressing, and living as one’s true self, one risks something we all dread: rejection. And worse yet, rejection on the deepest and most personal level. But if the fear of being rejected keeps us from our self, are we not, in essence, rejecting our self first? The only person we truly and inescapably have to live with. And in this, we risk living without ever fully exploring our self. Never fully being our self. Dying as someone who never saw the world and who the world never got a chance to see.
We seem to so desire certainty. An immortality. A utopic end to conflict, suffering, and misunderstanding. And yet, in the final elimination of all darkness exists light with no contrast. And where there is no contrast of light, there is no perception of light at all.