July 25, 2008


When he reflected on this he guessed that this enigmatic capacity for transference and independence that love had must also manifest itself in waking life. It is not that the woman loved is the origin of the emotions apparently aroused by her; they are merely set behind her like a light. But whereas in dreams there is still a hair's-breadth margin, a crack, separating the love from the beloved, in waking life this split is not apparent; one is merely the victim of doppelganger-trickery and cannot help seeing a human being as wonderful who is not so at all.

- Robert Musil

Sometimes, I wonder if my go-with-the-flow mentality will float me along a river that will be an amazing ride, but in the end, never leads anywhere. Kind of like one of those inner-tube pools at water parks, but faster and wilder and natural-born.

This brings up a question I've been thinking about for a long, long time:
Is the trip to the destination or the destination itself more important?

This makes me think of the Middle Ages when people suffered horribly (by today's standards) through life because they believed that their suffering would bring them closer to God. And how, if they were just good enough, they would end up in Heaven with Him. Of course, the situation now isn't as bad: the probability of me losing all my teeth before my twentieth birthday and dying from smallpox is pretty low.

So, can the two-- the joyous trip and the joyous destination-- be two ideas that can coexist at the same time?
Goodness if I know.
I sometimes worry that I'm making the wrong decision about where I'm going in life.
I know, it's a vague idea, and maybe even a silly one, being how I am. You know. Not that old.
But the anxiety is very real.
I've had a lot of time to myself, and although the idea of becoming a scientist extroardinaire thrills me, I still wonder if I'd be happy. Truth be told, I don't really know what being a scientist of sorts would entail, so conversely, I can't say that I won't be happy... but I still worry.
In an ideal world, I would be an english major, business minor, and still do a bunch of music. I'd then ship myself off to the CIA, learn how to cook, then open up my own cafe. By day, I'd be a barista/restauranteur, by night, I'd be a musician, and in my free time, I'd write. What I'd write, I have no clue about, but I always have the itch to write about something.
You may be wondering why if I know so well what I want, then why I'm still here writing about it instead of well, doing it.
I do know what's stopping me: For now, all I know is the ride. And the ride is all I'm here for. And maybe along the way, I'll stop and collect my thoughts, and maybe I'll have enough to say to actually take it to pen and paper.