freedom, independence, and adulthood

Freedom is often illusory. We think ourselves free while living in a box of our own making. The mistake is thinking that freedom is external. But every choice has natural consequences. They're two sides of the same coin. And so, when we choose to avoid consequences, we also choose to take away our own freedom to make those choices.

True independence is instead internal. The more we are able to face and accept the consequences of our decisions, the more free become. I'm only free to speak my mind to a friend if I'm able to accept the possible consequence of a lost friendship. To instead avoid friendships for fear of loss is as much robbing myself of my freedom as not speaking would be.

We often think of becoming adults as the end of our freedom. We're expected by family and society to increasingly transfer to ourselves the consequences of our decisions. But with practice, we mature. And we become better equipped to take responsibility for ourself and our actions. And so, independence is actually the fruit of adulthood. Only when I am able to face the consequences of any choice I make, am I truly free to make any choice I wish.

on art

"If I were to paint a wild horse, you may not see the horse...but you will surely see the wildness!" -- Picasso Great art isn't about craftsmanship. Its certainly not about realism. The value of art lay in its ability to transcend rhetoric. T he ability of the artist to distill a concept, for example "wildness", down to its very essence and to then communicate this to the audience in a way that touches the soul.

on loss

Why do some losses drive us into despair, while others we face with equanimity? I believe the answer is unrelated to the “depth of love” (a meaningless expression), but rather to how integral the person was to the fabric of our life. I remember the passing of each of my parents. I’d lived away from them for many years and so my everyday existence was unaffected. I quickly returned to my life, sad but composed. Imagine the essence of your life as a large piece of fabric and that of those you care about a different piece. In most relationships, like mine with my parents, the fabrics are intertwined but yet still distinct. Intermingled but fully separate. And so, despite the loss, your own fabric is unharmed. You still are very much who you were and your life as it was. But now imagine a different relationship where the fabrics, rather than being intertwined, have become joined together in place...

on trust

I’ve been thinking about the word “trust” – how often we use it in discussing relationships and yet how ill-defined it is. “I trust a rope.” “I trust my bank.” “I trust my person.” Obviously, the word “trust” in the context of a rope is quite different than the word “trust” when referring to a bank, and both seem worlds different than the word “trust” used when discussing relationships. Often when we tell someone that we trust them, it is assumed we mean that we trust them to abstain from mal-intent toward us. But I think there’s a more essential meaning – one actually common to all three examples. It’s true that if we trust our bank this means that we trust them not to steal our money. But it also means that we trust them to run the bank in a responsible manner making it unlikely we’ll lose our money to some unintended financial mishap. On the other hand, a rope isn’t capable of “intentionally” doing anyth...

rambling in the wood...

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