The Aristos

Though I love writing, and belivie that I am skilled at the art. Feel that it is my true calling, I have moments of doubt. I question myself as a writer and wonder if I am simply being biased in my opinion of myself. But others tell me I am a good wrtier, those that are not personally connected to me, and would have no reason to tell me they like my work were it not true. Though I am not one to seek validation in others. It is like looking in a mirror. You cannot truly judge yourself in your own reflection, what do you have but others to confirm or deny. So I must accept that I am a good writer and put my fears and doubts aside.

When the power goes out is the best time to get any writing done.  Becasue all other distractions are illiminated. I have a strange relationship with writing. I can eaisly make time within the day to sit down and read, but when there are other things going on, it is always hard to get me to commit to writing. Yet it is something in which I enjoy doing.  It is hard for me to focus upon it. But whenever the power goes out, I usually alwyas end up writing, sometimes by candlelight if I have to.

I think perhaps if I lived in the 1800’s or something, I might get a lot more done, I could just sit and write for hours without anything else to enterain me, or waste my time, but it is hard now to get myself in the mindset.

This question comes upon me in lieu of a post I read upon a forum I belong to, in which someone was telling a story about this sign that his uncle had in his restaurunt which said “Think less of yourself” and it was all about how when people think they are better than others, or think they are somehow special or different from other people, it can lead them to be unhappy, and that happiness comes from one accepting thier place in the world, and that having too high ambistions, or thinking too much of greatnes leads to dissapointment.

It was all about being humble and well not thinking a great deal of themselves, and to do so, can lead to happiness.

But do people think too much of being happy? Is it not in its own way a selfish desire for one to accept contentment with where they are for the sake of happiness. Though one might not see humbless as selfish, but if you think about it.

If people did not take risks, if they did not strive to achvie things, many times at the cost of much sacrifice and turmoil, the world at large would be deprived by many of the achivements that are caused by the sweat, blood and suffering, of those who did indeed seek greatness.

I think people sometimes think that happiness is too much of an entiltement, or too much of a nesscaity, but I do not think to be happy is the purpose of human exisistence.

Perhaps it is overated to be happy. Not to say one cannot have moments of happiness, but what is happiness, if it becomes a constant? Than it loses its meaning.

Books are thier own seperate worlds which contain thier own realities. Lives live upon the pages. Revealing themselves slowly and intimately. Where feelings are inspired there is breath. We are but voyers peering into the windows from behind the curtain.

We are created from the need, the need to examine others, to watch from the shadows. We consume the souls of these other beings. We seek to find ourselves within them, as well as to find escape from ourselves.

We must relate in someway to be moved, and yet, there must be just enough distance to be safe, to allow one to assure themselves that it is not they, but someone else, someone distant.

We must be moved but not ourselves invaded.