why should we be any different?
#125
You walk down the corridors of life, each twist and turn etching deeper contours in your consciousness. Have you ever paused to think about how many footprints overlap with yours?
How many souls are invisibly stitched to your existence?
As the walls close in, the scenery may change, but the emotional geography remains steadfast and unmoving. We think we're isolated islands, drifting in a sea of anonymity, yet little do we recognise that underneath the surface, we're part of an intricate web of interconnected roots.
Have you ever looked into a stranger's eyes and felt a jolt of recognition?
It's like you're gazing into a mirror where both of you are reflections of each other. Your own vulnerabilities, dreams, and fears reverberate in that transient moment of eye contact. It's as if you've known them for a lifetime, or maybe even several lifetimes.
In that encounter, you're momentarily free from the shackles of self, and you realise that the boundary between "you" and "other" is a mirage, an illusion sculpted by societal expectations and self-imposed limitations.
And it's not just in the gaze of another human that you find yourself; it's in the songs of the birds that announce the arrival of dawn, in the rustle of the leaves dancing to the wind's whims, in the quietude of a lake reflecting the skies.
Nature, in all its forms, serves as a canvas where you paint your desires and anxieties. You find comfort in nature's enduring cycles of birth, death, and rebirth because they serve as a reminder that the universe, despite how unique your experiences may seem, is in constant rotation.
This sense of interconnectedness extends beyond the natural world and into the realm of ideas. You devour books and drink deeply from the cup of wisdom. Here, the conversation of humanity has been going on for centuries, with each thinker adding a new layer and a new texture to the unending dialogue.
And yet, the realisation of interconnectedness doesn't diminish your individuality; it amplifies it. Each connection you make, each life you touch, and each thought you share adds a hue, a shade, and a tone to the palette of your unique existence.
You're a kaleidoscope, ever-changing but always beautiful, an intricate pattern formed by an infinite number of overlapping circles.
But what happens when the weight of this recognition becomes too much to bear?
When do you become so entangled in the threads of others that you start to unravel yourself? It's a delicate dance, this business of being and belonging. Boundaries still have their place. The trick is to find the balance between your own integrity and the open-hearted recognition of others' complexities.
As you continue to wander through this maze, each step you take reverberates across time and space, sending ripples that interact with other ripples, creating an ever-changing pattern that's both random and intentional.
Your essence is echoed in the myriads of lives you intersect with and theirs in you.
Welcome to Friday, my friend.
the walls of your comfort zone
might as well be prison walls when the ache for "something more" sets in.
Nietzsche said that when you look long into the abyss, the abyss looks into you. It’s a terrifying leap of faith into the unknown, yet it's also where you meet yourself—your real, unfettered self.
The abyss can be anything: a new job, a different city, the blank page for a writer, or even saying yes to an opportunity that terrifies you.
We are natural beings, always in the process of becoming. Trees push their roots into rocky crevices, and rivers carve new paths through resistant terrain. Nature, in its wisdom, seeks discomfort as a prerequisite for growth. The moulting snake, the blossoming flower, and the leaves falling from the trees in the autumn—all harbingers of change, all uncomfortable yet essential processes for renewal.
Why should we be any different?
"Seek discomfort" is not a call to reckless abandon but a plea for mindful agitation. Within discomfort, you unearth gems of resilience and nuggets of creativity. You realise that the boundaries you once erected around yourself were mere illusions, mirages on the far horizon. Embracing discomfort is a dance with vulnerability, a flirtation with the precarious edge of becoming.
Of course, discomfort is not an end in itself. It's the fertile soil from which the new versions of 'you' sprout.
In jazz, musicians often talk about the "pocket"—that magical, symbiotic relationship among artists where they each push the boundaries of rhythm and melody yet stay grounded in the tune.
Discomfort is your “pocket.” It keeps you rooted while still allowing you the freedom to explore, to improvise, and to become.
So, the next time you find yourself nestled too cosily within the four walls of your comfort zone, remember that beyond those walls is an untamed garden of possibilities, each petal a potential new reality, each thorn a lesson to be learned. The air outside is crisp and tinged with the perfume of adventure. It's a scent that calls you by name, inviting you to step out and breathe in the raw, exhilarating air of your own potential.
Are you willing to risk a thorn or two to gather a bouquet of transformative experiences?
new patient
Clayton L. is a fifty-five-year-old African American male. Consultant and chronic note-taker. He is currently administering self-therapy by writing out his thoughts on loose leaf paper and then ritualistically burning them in the back garden. What's his problem? He can't keep his mind still or complete the things he starts. Easily distracted, but always completes things that matter on time and to standard. Maybe the problem is that not many things matter to him, especially given how fleeting life is. His running narrative: “Am I going to care about this on my deathbed?” Another problem he has is his limited emotional range. He seems to only have three emotional gears: happy, annoyed, and melancholy. He says that's all he needs. He says others think he just doesn't care about other people and their feelings. He's only ever been to one funeral in his life. During his freshman year in college, his grandfather died. He went to the funeral. All the wailing and crying made him uncomfortable. He vowed never to attend another funeral, not even his own.
The leaves of autumn don't beg to stay attached to their branches; they yield to the laws of the season and embrace the descent. Similarly, the fabric of life weaves together threads of the mundane with unexpected bursts of the remarkable. The question then is not how to chase the exceptional at the expense of the ordinary, but how to cultivate a soil in which both can flourish.
The clock ticks, and you go through the rituals: the brushing of teeth, the sipping of coffee, the static of a radio voice, work, the call to loved ones, and finally, sleep. But between the script of your routine, there are the uncaptured moments, like the firefly that slips through the fingers of a child chasing it through a darkened field. It is in those moments—when the firefly lights up—that you get a glimpse of what an exceptional life could look like.
What, then, are these elusive sparks?
Often, they're the artefacts of curiosity, a force as primal as hunger, driving us from the moment we open our eyes as infants. Curiosity is not merely the pursuit of knowledge; it is an embrace of uncertainty and a willingness to question and wonder.
Marie Curie, a woman who transformed our understanding of radioactivity, once said, "Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas.”
The cultivation of curiosity expands your internal landscape, and the broader your internal world, the more exceptional your external life becomes.
There is also courage—not the kind that roars, but the kind that whispers in the still corners of your day. Courage to say yes to life and to risk comfort for the unknown. Think of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay reaching the peak of Everest. The summit was never just about a geographical point; it was about venturing beyond the boundaries of the human spirit. It's the same courage you tap into when you take a leap of faith in relationships, careers, or personal challenges.
And let's not forget empathy—the invisible thread that binds your exceptional life to others. Maya Angelou, a woman whose life was a hymn to the extraordinary, said, "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Exceptional lives are not solitary islands; they’re archipelagos connected through the tides of shared experience and understanding.
As for time—the ever-present, always fleeting companion—it’s a canvas. You can choose to fill it with splashes of extraordinary colour or cover it with the greys of procrastination and regret. The colour palette is in your hands.
The soil is ready. Your life is not a thing to be solved, but a mystery to be lived. The leaves fall and the seasons change, but what remains is the soil you've tilled and the seeds you've planted.
Will you chase the fireflies that light up the dark corners of existence, grasping the invisible threads of curiosity, courage, empathy, and time?
So, when does a life transcend the ordinary and touch the exceptional? Is it the grandiose acts that rewrite history, or could it be the subtle whispers that echo in the quiet chambers of individual hearts?
What are you willing to risk to find out?
He guides them through the shadowed hour.
with tales of blooms unseen in bowered lair,
of towering heights where stars like lanterns glare,
and night’s embrace holds an untold power.
They follow, drawn by forces unseen,
to universes both without and in,
where secrets rest in oyster shells, akin
to pearls, and time unravels at the seam.
With but a wave, their inner cosmos clear,
and awestruck, they observe the brilliance, sheer
complexity of patterns far and near,
hidden beneath their skin.
Suspended here between the now and next,
the world falls clear, and in that space, they float,
completely free, untethered from the ground, in ecstasy,
embracing the full scope of possibility.
moments:
Having a near-human interaction with AI. As these platforms become more powerful, i can foresee eventually having my very own J.A.R.V.I.S.
Making waffles in the waffle maker, which we haven’t done in a very long time, maple syrup is the best
Feeling excited for no apparent reason. maybe just an accumulative effect from having a really good week.
Realigning my core values with my vision and mission statements
Finding a new social media platform that shows promise of making real connections
Reconnecting with my OG blogger roots (contributing factor into why i possibly feel excited)
Reaslising that I have been spending too much time preoccupied with self
Still believing that blogging can change the world
Connecting with rock spirits, the tree spirits, the winged spirits, and the sprites that roam the ever-present woods and fields
Having an epiphany that storytelling trumps documenting
Watching my poetic imagination unfurl itself into the heart of what I do. I like watching it dance on the edge of reality.
recommendations:
if like me, you’ve been looking for a social network that is actually social, then you might want to try pebble. i believe they are taking open sign ups now.
i’ve been really into virginia woolf lately. her courage to experiment with language and form is inspiring. i want to have the same courage to not be held back by the establishment or the norm. i’m reading her most experimental novel, the waves
i discovered a new learning platform that i’m now making content for. it’s a site called memo’d. it’s like twitter for learning. you can find my memos here.
postscript
What’s been working for you this week?
I’ve enjoyed exploring and sharing ideas, and I especially enjoyed being in front of a group this week and facilitating a workshop on exceptional customer service. I didn’t enjoy the train journey to London so much. This time of the year, there seems to be a lot of people hacking, coughing, and sneezing. I almost wished I’d brought a mask with me.
This weekend is going to be a wet one. I’ve ordered an exercise bike. I spend so much time sitting on my ass reading that I thought I might as well maximise the time and get some exercise in while I read. My son is finally moving the rest of his stuff out of his old room, so I have the perfect place for it.
Until next week, take care, my friend.
Clay
Barefoot philosopher