I’ve come to find comfort in a reading of history, less cynical than it seems on its face, that admits that human beings have always been a mess and its only every so often that we’ve managed to muster up any real progress instead of just inventing more efficient ways of being (and making each other) miserable. I guess it reminds me that there have always been and will always be challenges and tragedies, that events are terrifying when they’re bearing down on you, and that some people rise to their times and some don’t, but most simply endure them with whatever grace they can. This helps me to worry less about the direction things are headed and be more aware of right here and right now, which, regardless of what happens, is the only place I’ll ever actually be and thus the only time I can ever actually act.
Every simple post I try to write always ends up super long because I want it to be perfect, but it also (counterintuitively) ends up too inchoate to share. So I post nothing, but at least the notebook keeps growing. How do you decide when a peice of writing says enough?