206. The Pain Of Failure

You put your whole being into everything you do. You do this automatically, because you care about the things you do and you want them done right.

To act in any other way would feel hollow and false. You cannot do less than your absolute best. If you did, you would detect the lie in your actions. It would be like you were performing a simulation rather than doing the real thing. You either give everything to what you do or you don’t do it at all.

205. Building Patience

When I discover something new, I want to understand it immediately. I want to know its position in the interconnected web of objects that is my rational understanding of the world. I want to be able to justify its existence and grasp its full meaning.

It’s because I’m able to do this for most of the things I encounter that I expect every new thing to be quickly assimilated. Any delay in my comprehension is experienced as frustration, as though something has gone wrong. With unlimited information at my fingertips, these expectations are regularly emphasized and enhanced.

204. Order Through Agreement

We need rules for there to be order. Without rules, people could do whatever they want, and they might do things that would harm us or compromise our ability to live happily. When we have rules that everyone knows and follows, the actions of others become predictable, and this helps ensure our security and safety.

When we encounter disorder, we believe it should be resolved by creating a new rule. Once the new rule is formulated and proclaimed, we expect order to be restored. But creating a rule does nothing by itself. We also need some means of enforcing the rule.

203. The Object Of Desire

She knows she sometimes has a strong effect on people. She has been told it’s because she’s attractive, but she doesn’t allow herself to believe this. When she’s around, people start to act strangely, as though they’re unable to simply accept her presence. Their attention turns to her and their actions become incomprehensible.

She doesn’t know if this lack of comprehension stems from her own inability to read people or if people are just stranger than she imagines. She assumes it must be some combination of the two, for she knows she often misses signals and everyone is weird in some way, even her.

202. What Seems Meaningful

What has already been noticed becomes more noticeable. If I’m reading a book and an unusual word stands out to me, I give it extra attention, I ponder its meanings, and I might even look it up to explore its etymology. Having noticed it, I’m struck when I see it again later that day. I have not seen this word in so many years of reading and now I’ve seen it twice. When I then see it a third time, I begin to wonder if it might be haunting me.

201. Writing Is Not Enough

We live in a world of endless writing. We write to each other constantly, texting, messaging, commenting, posting our opinions, our experiences, our ideas and dreams.

We trust that our written language is doing what we want, that it’s expressing the core of our thoughts and feelings, and that others will know and understand these things. We expect others to grasp our meanings, to comprehend our intentions, and to read our words in good faith.

200. At War With The World

It’s easy to fall into the habit of seeing myself in conflict with the world. All it takes is to see everything around me as separate from me and thus as something I must resist. I must resist it because it opposes my will and stands in the way of getting what I want. I then become alienated from the world and obsessed with myself and my desires.

At best, this develops into a bleak isolation where I’m imprisoned in the rigidity of my own mind, blocked from the possibilities of life, and barred from loving connections to other people. At worst, I become cynical about the world, and I see everything and everyone as a hostile threat to my security or even my existence itself.

199. Poems Are Possibilities

A poem reveals something about our experience that we might not otherwise notice. It does so by using language in a way that forces us out of the ordinary world and into another realm that we cannot fully grasp. It expands our library of meanings and helps us see that there is more to life than we might have thought.

The language of the poem magically lifts us out of language and into the heart of being. The impact of this cannot be fully described. But something does happen, and we are moved by each and every poem that captures our attention. We see something new, and when we see it, we become something new, as well. We might not perceive this change immediately, as it might take time to emerge, but it happens nonetheless.

198. The First Step

I can’t stay quiet for this to work. Getting to know someone means speaking to them. I have to keep talking. But to keep the words flowing is a struggle. Every silence fills me with dread because of the chance I might not escape it. I’m constantly scanning my memory for information and anecdotes to share. Sometimes there’s nothing forthcoming, not even a question to ask, and I panic. But then I’m rescued by the grace of the other. They offer up some words of their own and I’m instantly relieved. I try to keep every thread running for as long as I can but I always run out of string. Then the silence returns and so does my anxiety. I can think of questions to ask but they feel somehow inappropriate. They’re either too direct or too strange and my standing in the conversation feels far too perilous to venture such an attempt. I’m worried that saying something wrong will cause the other to pull away and then what? How could I possibly recover? Every word feels like a risk because I cannot know in advance how it will be received. I try to stick to simple subjects, to topics both inoffensive and pleasant. So far this is working but the conversation is also overwhelmingly boring. When would be a good time to inject some excitement? I don’t know and I’m bothered by this absence of knowledge. Perhaps there is no good time. Perhaps I just have to take the risk even though it’s scary. There’s no way to know where the other’s boundaries lie without testing them. But am I prepared for rebuke? Will I be able to withstand harsh criticism? I might withdraw so deeply into myself that I’ll be forced to abandon the conversation completely. But still I can’t shutdown in advance out of mere worry. The other seems so kind and friendly that such a devastating response seems unlikely. They would probably laugh off any unwanted words without a second thought. But hopefully that won’t be necessary. Hopefully they will not only accept what I say but also respond to it amicably. I would like this for it would mean we’re growing closer. But I can’t get there without trying. I have to take the first step. There is no other way.