I seek alone time, but then--once achieved--I long for others to share it with me. I long for a rationality in the world while, simultaneously, contributing to its irrationality. I demand the concrete of others but never subscribe myself to anything beyond the abstract. I put forth an image of strong opinions, yet I have no personal convictions of my own. I believe in the importance of freedom, yet work endlessly to enslave people.
Cliché as it may sound, the only consistent description of my behavior is my inconsistency. My journal reflects this--a nearly bipolar menagerie of contradicting and inconsistent thoughts.
My only desire--the only thing I can ask at the end of my life is that when someone manages to compile all of my works and ideas into a concise solitary statement of myself, it will simply be: He was.
Ever find yourself on a street corner--you may be waiting for a bus, impatiently anticipating the negative "DON'T WALK" red to switch to the amiable "WALK" green, or simply going out for a nights walk of fresh air--then it hits you? Perhaps it's the particular way the wind breezes through your hair, the blinding rays of sunlight that kiss your retina, a glance from a child who reminds you of the innocence still present in the world, or perhaps just a contented feeling of having a full stomach. A tune plays in your head, time feels transcended and, for a few moments, you feel entirely immersed in your environment and--within this moment--a brilliant idea comes to your mind. You fumble for a piece of paper to write it down before it disappears into the wind like dust.
Or, maybe you'll be traveling down a highway in an empty desert. Rushing home to your loved ones after a long days work, then you witness a car accident that somehow alters your perception of that complex philosophical concept you were trying to grasp.
Or, simply, you were buying freshly baked bread when you met an anarchist who challenged many ideas that you had previously held and--at the end of it--you felt that you had a much better grasp of the perspective of another.
If any of these ring true, congratulations: You've just experienced a digression.
If digressions are the soul of reading, what is the importance of digressions in life? Digressions are sidelines to our goals, distractions from our habits--yet it is in these digressions that the spirit of life comes nearer to full understanding.
I'd like this LJ will serve as a collection for these digressions. After all, if everything went according to plan things wouldn't be very interesting at all--would they?