mastery and patience
When I was in second grade, there was a book about Leonardo Da Vinci. It focused on his inventions and paintings. Since then, I've always admired Da Vinci’s legacy because I deeply resonated with it. I couldn’t articulate it at the time, but I wanted to become a Renaissance man—a cerebral life of art and science.
Mastery is a great pursuit, but it’s so lonely. I’ve often felt like I was self-sabotaging by going out just for the sake of it. I still do. It’s not necessarily an addiction to work; what I do brings me deep satisfaction. However, making memories with others is essential to my quality of life, though that sentiment feels a bit cold. I like to cultivate deep and immersive friendships. It takes a while to get to that point and the journey isn't always fruitful. I can't trade any regrets for more time. This is my only life, and I’d like to fill it with a deeper understanding of fire.
I’m incredibly impatient. When I want something badly enough, it becomes an obsessive thought. It’s not just the desire; it’s the frustration of its absence. Mastery of anything requires a lot of time, and I always feel like I’m running out of it. My cards tell me that the clock deceives us and I have more time than I think. People always claim they don’t have enough time; I guess I never questioned that sentiment. It is odd, though. Kairos refers to qualitative, experiential time, while Chronos is the quantitative passage of days and months. Our brains compress years shorter and shorter. Time is a trick of the mind. I suppose I have as much time as I believe.
Some days, I’m so impatient for death, and I remind myself there’s still work to be done. It’s not necessarily the suffering that gets to me. It’s always too late to kill yourself because the bad thing has already happened. Every once in a while, my morbid curiosity won’t let me rest, and I want to know what it’s like to be without life. I've always been attracted to forbidden knowledge.This human experience is so tempting to throw away in reckless abandon. I haven’t earned that yet. I like to think that if death has a flavor, it’s decadent and sweet. Every dessert is just a cheap imitation of the real thing, as long as death comes naturally and not violently. A well-earned passing is the ultimate decadence. When I forget about death, life feels so short. But when I remember the reward at the end, it feels so long. Are my fixations my vices?
