December 13, 2017•304 words
How much to really say? How much to open? I've made this blog public to get over my fear of being public, but there is a maximum darkness threshold that I simply will not let out. There is a thing as too much honesty. I think. But maybe that's just fear. The truth is, I'm currently tired of writing publicly like I know what I'm doing when I have no idea idea what I'm doing. Any post that I write giving advice or motivation is always note-to-self's. But I'm presently tired of giving myself advice. I'm tired of trying to motivate myself with some profound and as of yet undiscovered philosophy. What remains?
I don't know. I imagine for the next few days I'll be writing unintelligibly not for any audience, but for me. Because the habit itself of writing everyday is more important than what I write about or what value I try to add to your day. I've tried to make my posts somewhat useful for an external audience, but then it became that every post needed to have some grand epiphany or moral.
Well, in this post, there is no story. There is no conclusion. There are no aphorisms or morals. Because what do I know? Painfully little. I mean literally. It is painful how little I know.
I'm nowhere near giving up. And quite frankly that's not an option at this point. So I don't worry about that. But if not giving up, what remains? I don't want to call this perseverance, because that sounds romantic.
No, what's left is just the raw stuff life is made of.
Life is in the interstices. Not the checkpoints. Yet checkpoints are all I yearn for.
There's your moral. You can go cash it in for literally $0 of productive or economic value.