Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
A promise is a way of laying claim to an uncertain future. It is a way of projecting oneself into the coming months, protecting a commitment that may be impossible to keep. It is also a means of guarding or binding one’s identity—the I in I promise.
— John Kaag and Skye C. Cleary, Advice on New Year’s Resolutions from Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, theparisreview.org
Advice on New Year’s Resolutions from Kierkegaard and Nietzsche
A friend asked me, so, do you have all your Christmas preparation done?
Heh! The simple answer is no; the more complicated answer is, is ANYONE ever COMPLETELY done with Christmas prep? It reminds me of what Lorne Michaels once said about Saturday Night Live. He said the show doesn’t go on the air because it’s done. It goes on the air because it’s Saturday night at 11:30.
Same with Christmas. It arrives on its own schedule, regardless of how much (or little) of what we’d hoped to get done has actually happened.
Everything unknown to us must be fictional or nonexistent.
~ the unimaginative
“I wonder what pleasure men can take in making beasts of themselves.”
“I wonder, Madam,” replied the Doctor, “that you have not penetration to see the strong inducement to this excess; for he who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”
~ Samuel L. Johnson
The full moon never shines so bright as against the darkest sky.
The only problem with sunrises is, they schedule them so early in the day.
Whenever I pet some of my snoozy kitties and I get a little purr in response, I feel like I have somehow redressed the kindness/cruelty balance of the universe a little bit for a moment.
Randomness is part of the flavor of life, and it always reminds me that no matter how deep I am in my grief, there’s a whole world proceeding forth with or without me.
The light of the full moon may be blocked by the clouds, but the tides are undeterred.
— Me
This essay made me think about the experience of returning to a book I’ve read and loved.
Sometimes, in a moment of grace, I glimpse the me-of-another-time that read and loved the work enough to want to return to it again someday.
Sometimes, it’s a rediscovery, and I wonder how I ever could have forgotten it.
Sometimes, it’s a disappointment; sometimes, I have a greater appreciation that the ‘me’ of today brings to it.
It’s been said that you can’t step in the same river twice. Equally true, that you can’t read the same book twice. But you can still appreciate the view, even if it’s not exactly the same, and be glad you made the journey.