Where did “I” begin?  On my birthday?  Or nine months before that, when “I” was conceived?  But didn’t “I” have separate components that existed in my mother and father?  And weren’t those components born from ancestors that were born from the earth that was born from stars that were born from gravitationally condensed gas that was born from an expansion of matter/energy condensed into a tiny point which was born from an acausal series of conditions that needed no cause to trigger it because the sum total of our universe is an energetic value of zero which makes it mathematically plausible for us to be an iteration of an absolute void…what are the deeper implications if there IS no “I?”  What if there IS no soul-rending, heart-lifting, super-duper ultimate purpose?  Is that terrifying?  Would “I” laze about and stop doing everything altogether?  

Or would I stop taking things so seriously, enjoy the moment, and try and live the most fulfilling existence possible?

Within any given instant, it seems that holding myself accountable for my own shortcomings results in immediate frustration and unpleasant truth.  But what’s the alternative?  I’d much rather hold myself accountable than let my shortcomings accumulate and invite some external force to illustrate my ignorance in some catastrophic fashion.  Not only does self accountability increase the chances I can learn from my failures (because I’m being as honest as I can about them), but it also empowers me to be my own boss, as I’ve done my part to transform into a self-regulating entity.

I’m starting to forget

The importance of remembering things 

Unless they’re important

To helping me remember

What it means to be Fulfilled.

The willingness to process/handle complexity is what allows us to channel simplicity.

When I first started writing, I thought the key to writing was learning techniques, daily word count, etc. etc. etc.  Yes, those are absolutely important—without those, first and final drafts would never manifest.  But I think the seed of literary greatness lies in willing to relinquish identity so you can hop from character to character.  Sounds cool, right?  But wait—it gets unpleasant.  Relinquishing identity means tossing aside those treasured beliefs that I’ve fostered throughout my entire life, and within my author’s mind, becoming someone whose pattern of thought and behavior is absolutely repugnant.  Otherwise, how would I fully commit to writing a villain?  How would I commit to writing someone weak?  How would I commit to writing a coward?  When I fully commit to writing, it means being honest and trusting enough to have compassion for every misguided character in my stories, and realizing they’re trying to do their best with the cards they’ve been dealt.  

(the reverse is also true; the best, truest heroes are the ones that are flawed).

If you engage in pointlessly hard practices/journeys, ones grueling enough to strip away addictions to comfort or addictions to novelty (and realize that each passing second is an infinitely novel rearrangement of time and matter), and in the process, learn to not just spout cliches, but iterate them anew and functionalize them for personal use… 

Then those practices and journeys will have had a point.

As the years pass and the hairs gray, the pursuit of our dreams will either be buried beneath resignation and ill-reasoned excuses, or spark into a bright flare that stings us with urgency.  I have found only one solution that soothes the discomfort from either of those scenarios:

Working toward my dreams today.  And the next day.  And the next.  And the next.  Perhaps I’ll never get to that illusory land filled with luxury and decadence, but you only have to look at celebrities or trust fund babies to realize that it’s not the destination that matters, but finding peace in the chase.

I suspect that the more someone knows themselves, the less flakey they become, for they’ve seen deep into their cognitive processes and are able to intuit what commitment to direct their energy at.  And when they do flake, it’s for reasons that are unquestionably valid, not for indulgent purposes—not due to a gap in awareness that caught them unawares.

Keeping track of success and failure is definitely important, but I don’t believe a single success or failure defines an individual.  What I look out for is how honestly an individual assesses their successes and failures, and if they use that assessment to improve their performance in the next go-round.

I think that to truly access the peak of one’s potential, a person must not deny their baser nature.  Through talent or wisdom, that person should learn to channel/express their lower tendencies so that they aid—not hinder—their effort towards a greater goal.  Denial works, but in the end it ties up a lot of willpower, and requires immense discipline.  Most people I’ve seen who resort to denial end up mired in a battle with their desires, never investigating why, never investigating how, simply continuing to mindlessly struggle and eventually get pummeled into bitterness and irrelevance.