11 September, 2011


I loved that feeling of being on top of the mountain, sweating under all the layers, squinting in the sun, relishing in nothing but what was around and how it made, nay, makes me feel. The soreness and fatigue were part of the wonderful discount-package-deal, and weren’t unpleasant at all. THAT was/is what LIVING IS. The unabashed, simple but not trivial, full enjoyment of who and where I am.

My homework isn’t done, and won’t be, but that’s fine. I am conscious that I am a judgmental person, and I am working on it. I enjoy Nutella. I am getting fit, and want to become and stay more so. The only boundaries I have are the ones I set for myself.

What am I doing at St. John’s? Searching for knowledge. There is an infinite number of things I can learn from the absolutely incredible minds that created the works I am studying. But more important than this, I am searching for myself. It’s a not a one-time find, but a slow progression. The next step, and really the only step, is to forget the progression, the kind of 12-step program, of development. Just go. Just go. Just GO.

How much can I do? I don’t know yet. I haven’t even set the bar very high for myself at this point. Most things I’ve done thus far has challenged me in some way, but nothing has been truly hard. I must confront the impossible distance, force the incomprehensible into the light. I have to bend the wild to my will.

Or rather, I must let the wild be my will.


Martin said...

Nay? Ha! That's a scream! Kidding aside, whenever I read your blog posts, I always want to get off of my computer and do homework, or read a book, or hone my programming skills, or singlehandedly end world hunger... you get the picture.

That is the power of the written word: it speaks. It can communicate with all the passion and fervor of a rousing address, but silently, and through the medium of paper and ink (or pixels on a liquid crystal display). Also, just like words from the mouth of an expert public speaker, a writer's words, when read by others, have the power to change peoples' minds and hearts, to inspire them, and to move them. But not just anyone can do that: the ability to be a “people-mover” is truly a talent. I'm writing this to say this: if you, my friend, can motivate the remarkably lazy (me) to do something great, then you have that talent.

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