Today I had an interesting so-close-to-argument discussion. We were talking about how much money had changed hands between the two of us earlier in the day, and the facts of the scenario were blatantly clear to me (particularly because even Heisenberg couldn’t prevent me from knowing exactly where my cash funds are at at any given time). So I stuck with the axiomatically-derived assertion that 2 x $50 = $100, and that there was no chance the $100 I was given at the start of the day, less only what I spent (and not less any more), could have left the remnant which remained in my wallet.
We worked it out eventually, once the exact facts were established through a third party. The point, however, was not so much that I was right, but that we both reached a mutual understanding. Simply asserting what I knew to be true, with my own empirical reasoning, was enough to do some convincing, mostly about my rightness on little more than a logically sound level. Still, my side of the story wasn’t enough to fill in the gaps in my arguee’s understanding. I was right, but that’s not comforting to someone else who simply can’t piece together the why. My being right had no bearing on their still-deficient worldview. No, it would have been better to follow a partial mantra for life which I put into place some years ago.
Ask the next question.
If you ask the next question in any given circumstance, you move closer to determining the more significant underlying meaning. You extend your mind, pressing past the monotony of the mundane to the strange exhilaration of the unknown. It’s the expression of the mandate to grow always, another life principle of mine.
The next question would have been to establish where the rest of the money could have gone – retrace the spending pattern to complete the picture. It would have meant addressing the affliction rather than only treating the symptoms.
Before the curtain falls, a couple of highly pretentious and equally profound Latin piths. Temet nosce. Oh, and carpe diem, despite its clichÃ©d banality. Really, carpe diem it up. I’ll be asking the next question while I’m carpe dieming, too.
I went to visit some friends and their newborn (read: 5 days old, ~7 weeks premature) twin girls last night. Everyone’s doing really well and the girls are quickly becoming stronger and more animated. The whole thing has been a fascinating experience for me – they are both wondrous creations, each embodying so much potential and possibility. Tiny hands with so much articulation and detail already. So small and soft, yet so alive and vibrant.
The title refers to their Dad, who’s still grinning from ear to ear. The eldest (by 18 minutes), Christina, is doing really well. Hopefully by now Alysha’s feeding tube will have been removed, which would mean a lot more close getting-to-know-you time with her parents.
How could creation ever be, at even the remotest possibility, the direct result of a large combustion?
The natural reflex of the author is to apologise for addressing the subject of much hyperbole and warmfuzziness. Remarkably, in an astounding display of much ironwilled stubbornness, no such apology is forthcoming. Rather, he will attempt to highlight certain facets of the subject’s vast entirety as they are presently of particular importance to him, and will cease speaking of himself in the third person forthwith.
[Remember, gentle reader, that this blog is a simple while sometimes satirically journalistic outlet for items of random topical interest. To be precise, my random topical interest. And I’m a self-confessed romantic at heart. Enjoy it, or build a bridge.]
Romantic love is complex, and that’s not what I’m on about [yet]. Think instead [first] about the way you love your friends, of the same and/or the other gender. How is that expressed? Now what about the way you love your siblings? Rinse, repeat. What about your parents?
If I were a parent, what kind of love from my child[ren] would I appreciate the most? I have reflected on this for many, erm, minutes, and have decided that that thing would be gratitude. Be aware that I am of the belief that, since parents cause their child to become at all, they are obligated to bear the responsibility for the child’s continued wellbeing until such time as the child desires and can facilitate absolute independence. Still, good manners and any modicum of insightful perception would provide the impetus for expressed appreciation.
Ouch. That last sentence is convicting in its own right.
But as far as love goes, I dunno. My parents continually express love for me, either in actions or words. The parent to child bond is indeed a unique one. Ideally it should be the actualisation of the deep unity of two people, thus bringing about parental joy and ultimate satisfaction as well as the continuation of the species. Parents would do well to remember the “parental joy” bit once the kids continue to cry, demand, argue, bicker, nitpick, deviate or individualise. It’s all part of the deal – you sign up for the child, you get the whole package.
Tangent; back on track. The semi-dependent part of the parent-child relationship is an interesting one when considered from the vantage point of love. That’s where I’m at, what I call semi-dependent. I live here, in the house my parents have worked for 20 years to justify. My parents feed me whenever I’m home for dinner. We have broadband internet and a dishwasher. All in all, my board is a token. So it’s a good deal (but do offset the “good deal” with the thrust of the third-previous paragraph). I have a significant social calendar which keeps me away from home somewhat more than I/they like. I like semi-dependence and I’m glad that I can break free a little bit. Still, I’m happy to be here and cared for. Seems the best way to acknowledge that is to communicate clearly about all the stuff in my life I think is trivial, and to contribute to the daily operation of this house which is a fantastic home.
What I truly and intensely value to a greater extent, however, is the time I spend with close friends. That’s a different kind of love again. Chapman referred to it as the love language of quality time. It’s energising, rewarding, uplifting and exciting. Quality time is my primary love language, according to the survey. The book is great, highly recommended.
Which makes me wonder just how amazing it must be to spend time with that one special significant other. But that’s the romantic love topic, to which I’ve hinted many a time already in the previous editions of this blog, and which will remain blissfully if still undesirably distant, as if obscured by an equivalently romantic mist on a crisp Autumn morning.
crystallised random thought which would normally be partially entitled with a humourous arbitrary number
“Tomorrow” doesn’t conceptually begin until an intervening sleep period has been undertaken. You still say “See you tomorrow” if you’re farewelling someone at 2am…
There are times that I feel like hitting the pause button. Right now it would be nice to pause the world and walk around among the resulting inanimates, for the single purpose of observing all that is happening and being able to focus deep within. Everything’s moving normally, things in motion as they should be. Seconds turning into minutes turning into hours and days. Each breath, though, moves me infinitesimally closer to … what?
Life is excellent right now. Each day, by virtue of humanity’s activity, in and of itself, holds an innumerable set of fascinating possibilities. It’s remarkable, then, how easy it is to become mired in the mundane. To be exquisitely vague and yet equally if self-confessÃ¨dly profound: if x is a desired outcome or object, the x one has [is less than] the x one deals with [is also less than] the x one would like. It’s also remarkable how easily simple idle time can become complex by the increased mental burden of added responsibility. This needs planning. That requires x hours’ work at $y per hour, costing me z minutes’ relaxation. The other hasn’t happened because someone else hasn’t borne the responsibility properly. Yeah, my mental vocalisation of responsibilities can become heated at times.
What is the value in conflict? We should be following the adage and selecting our battles deftly. Only that which matters should be conflicted openly, and even then it should be done in the most amiable fashion. Note to self: Self, remember to conflict amiably. Bickering is unproductive, wasteful and can cause pain. It’s silly.
Contentment. Bring it on.