Did not finish: The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty. I enjoyed the first part of the book but after setting it aside just couldn’t get back into it. 📚
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Manton Reece – No one cares… for now
The act of writing itself helps us think, helps us learn, helps us discover how we feel about a topic. It’s creative and has value even if no one is reading.
Yep. I had to work a long time to get over this emotionally. It was, in fact, part of the calculus in going nonline several years back now. I needed to remember who I was writing for and why.
The meaning of life
I remember when an entomologist (an expert on insects) was asked what benefit ticks provide. "None at all," he replied. The follow-up question, of course, was why they exist at all. "Because the opportunity arose."
It made me think about the questions we ask about our own existence.
We like to believe that everything has a meaning and a connection. That everything is part of a perfect whole.
We search and search, wanting the answer served to us on a silver platter. Perhaps that's why we never find it: we're looking in the wrong place.
Maybe we ourselves hold the solution to the riddle without realizing it. Like using a torch to search for something, not realizing that it's the torch in our hand we're looking for.
What if it's simply that the meaning of life is for us to create that meaning ourselves? To build our own purpose, brick by brick, experience by experience, and sharing that passion with the rest of the world.
Maybe the meaning of life is to be meaningful.
