Humanity cannot really claim a higher order of evolution until it overcomes its first-order tendencies to suppress, restrict, and ultimately destroy.
His special thing—that unusual, sparkling, saturated thing that gives him gravitas and value—is a profound urgency about not giving up on life, on romance, on love.
Wherever the holiday finds you, you’re obviously reading this, which therefore means you’re alive. That’s not something to forget, or waste.
Like a virus, an idea doesn’t look like much without the context of the place and time where it interacts with the world.
Soldier, student, seer: it doesn’t matter. Looking into the void we can't help but marvel, ponder, feel something shared and private at the same time.
We’re all awash in tidal waves of information, yet there’s rarely a sense of anything being a surprise anymore. There’s just an endless stream of “have you gotten to it, yet?”, and that’s not even close to knowing about something awesome that others may not have yet found.
You’re always taking stock of your past, the decisions you’ve made that got you to this moment, and you wonder if you’re on a trajectory that’s still climbing or already settled sneakily into a long slow descent. You look back to look forward.
I worry that the story of how it got there and all of the many decisions that brought it into being—who designed it, who manufactured it, who shipped it, sold it, took it home, wore it, and ultimately hung it up for perpetuity might never be told.
Life of the mind intertwines with life of the senses, but they do not depend on each other. The more a person can incorporate aspects of both, the more a person is empowered to act in the face of the onrushing day. But a life given over to pure information is one abandoned to gray irrelevancy.
Folk music espouses a world that fundamental believes in peaceful coexistence. It regards an innate nobility and value in people—all people.