June 12, 2012
Just writing. 8:12
12. dozen. 12 months. why 12? I think there must be an answer and that when I hear it I will claim that I knew that. But I don’t actually know why there are 12 months. If I did, I wouldn’t be wondering. I would answer myself. But I can’t.
I read about someone saying they are smart. And smarter than this or that person in general. I’m smarter than some people. But which people, and in which ways, and how do I know and how do I get surprised? I’m not very good at understanding card games, or dominoes. I glaze over and just don’t get it. That doesn’t seem so smart.
I am also tempted to figure out how healthy I am, or not. Or how tough, as in fighting. But the measurement appetite is not all that useful except in terms of how it aids my choices. Ahh, choices. That is what I want to avoid. So, thinking about measurements which won’t happen with any meaningful accuracy… that’s a fine distraction.
Choosing is where life happens. I’m a bit afraid of choosing. Ironically, because it is a better tool for evaluation than abstract testing. People who choose to work hard at sensible things are obviously wiser than people who don’t. Potential cleverness is enticing. Vetting by action is a bit intimidating. But, there are rationalizations for not acting.
If I choose to do one thing, then I’m not doing the other thing. If I learn Spanish, then I’m blocking out that time and focus from learning Chinese, or cleaning my desk or figuring out my ATT issues. If I move from potentially doing this or that, then I’m equally available to all choices. No, I don’t actually do any of them, but the egalitarianism of considering each one is somewhat noble.
This morning I am writing. It is a struggle. It is actually doing something instead of considering doing many things. But at least it is about the phenomena of considering instead of doing. So, in some strange way, I’m staying true.
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