It can stand on its own, which is why I am publishing it separately. Again, I am doing it without disclosing the identity of my correspondent.

The quotes that are two levels deep are mine from my previous publication. The others belong to my correspondent.

You seem to have a very stable set of commitments. I wonder if trial-and-error was also involved here. For me, there were things I wanted to keep working on in the long term, but I always had to pause due to environmental constraints and external events. Did you have similar experiences?

Overall, my biggest fear with controlling my curiosity has been losing myself, but hearing your experiences gave me enough confidence that this is unlikely to be the case.

“Fear” is the key here. Keep this in mind for my other comments as well. It is related to every aspect of this topic.

First to your question. Yes, trial and error was involved. I was not always the person I am today. My growth has been surprising in this regard. I can compare my teenage self to my present self to give you a concrete idea.

As a teenager, I had no intellectual interests whatsoever. I was not reading books, I was not studying for school, I did not have any plan for my future such as to become a scientist or an engineer or whatnot. When they were doing career orientation day I was leaving school to go have fun.

I was good at sport in general and especially good at football (soccer). I took it very seriously and was a pillar of discipline about it, meaning that I would always be on time, do all the drills correctly, never fake it, train no matter the circumstances, never find excuses not to put in the hard work.

As a sportsman, I had tenacity of body because, fundamentally, I had tenacity of mind. But I was not an intellectual in any way. I was a dumb boy. You would never think of starting a conversation such as this one with me, for example. Or any kind of “deep” discussion for that matter. I would only do silly things and talk nonsense the whole time, while making fun of everything.

I did not respect most of my teachers at school. I talked back to them and ridiculed what to me looked like their absurdity. In short, I was not a “good boy” in the way most people understand this term. I was only good when it concerned what I cared about, namely, football. I was never a bully and would hurt bullies in my midst because that is the only language they understand. I was not a delinquent child. I simply was not one to be controlled and because of my discipline, which I would demonstrate in sport but which I generally had as a form of responsibility, I was earning my independence from a very young age.

Because of an untimely injury that prevented me from becoming a professional footballer, I turned my attention to studying. Even though I was not a good student at first and had no interest in all that “incredibly boring stuff”, I discovered that I actually enjoyed thinking things in depth. I was fascinated by the process of discovery. In short, I realised that I could become a thinker. What you see now is the result of that transformation.

But becoming a thinker was not a straightforward process. I had no idea what I actually wanted to do. The formal study I picked was about the European Union (the European integration process). I did not know anything about this field and the only thing that drew me to it was that I could use foreign languages (my native tongue is Greek). Yes, I was superficial in this regard—I was a dumb boy, after all.

I formally learnt about political science, economics, and law. Then I started my blog/website where I wrote articles on the political topics of that time that were of interest to me. A Member of the European Parliament from Portugal found my blog and offered me a job. So I ended up in Brussels, working at a centre of power, before even getting my Bachelor’s degree, without ever being involved in party politics, and without any connections to people of authority.

There I realised that I did not actually like politics. The theoretical aspects are appealing, but the day-to-day stuff is not interesting to me. In the meantime, I was always observant of phenomena, and would show a knack for discerning in them that which was common in their multitude. In other words, I was becoming a philosopher without realising it in the beginning.

This trial and error made me move away from Brussels to the mountains of Cyprus, where I now am. I have a house here, that I designed from scratch and built myself. I am no longer who I was when I was at the heart of the European Union. My preferences have changed, my ideas have become more clear, I have become more efficient in my methods and decisive in my actions. That I write in one go, that I do it frequently, and that my writings have the coherence they do is evidence of this.

Through these words you can find this person because there is no faking these words. I am this. To put it metaphorically, I have an extremely sharp cutting edge which was blunt in the beginning and became what it is now by continuously hitting it against all sorts of surfaces.

You can already tell from this that my path to where I have arrived was not a straight line. It went left and right, up and down, always open to the possibility of the new that I sensed but could not name. It took me from the most modest of jobs, such as construction work and bartending, to the centres of political control, and then to the countryside where I live at the margins of Cypriot society as something akin to a more polite dog.

People romanticise the man who moves away from established society. They do it to me as well. Not because they actually want to live the frugal life. No! They prefer their comforts even when they claim otherwise. They do it because deep down they know that the only way to find yourself is by losing yourself. But fear keeps them at the level of romanticising instead of acting out of that ideal, at the level of fantasising oneself as another instead of becoming another.

You can now understand “fear” better. It is the clinginess people have towards the thing they think they own. We are not prepared to let go. We hold on to whatever we think is ours and we carry it as far as we can. This is how Sisyphus, the man who rolls a boulder up the mountain, punishes himself. He is representing clinginess: to hold on to everything and to carry it with you. This “everything” includes the self you are, where you are not prepared to forgo this self so that you might become another. The “might become” is how Sisyphus drops the boulder and can now move up to the top of the mountain unburdened. There at the top he sees open vistas, new horizons, an entire world of possibilities. He is no longer the man who is punishing a boulder uphill for an eternity. He left his clinginess roll downhill.

You find yourself by losing yourself. What does this mean? It means that you proceed through trial and error. You trust in your heart that the inkling you have about what you are searching for might actually be what you will fall in love with. This is not a rational plan. Those who think they can sort out everything through a thought experiment or some neat program are simply letting their fear do the talking. What I represent is the person who jumps off a cliff, with nothing but faith, with nothing other than the inkling that there is something there to be loved, and who grows wings on the way down.

For as long as you are thinking about it without doing anything, which means that you may be overthinking it, you are operating within the boundaries that your innermost fear has delineated. The fear has drawn your comfort zone. It is even encouraging you to continue overthinking: “figure everything out completely” it says, “before you make a move”. What it does not add is “because I do not want to leave this place”. The fear knows that you will never figure out everything, so you will stay exactly where you are, which is what it wants.

Notice that in the above paragraph I am personifying the fear as somebody else who is not you and who is keeping you there. You can think of it as another spirit, as a daemon as we say in Greek, which has a life of its own (“daemon” does not mean evil; it is a spirit with a life of its own, and thus with preferences). This is a rhetorical device, a metaphor to say in one word what requires an entire essay to describe. I am referring to the clinginess we have, where we think that what we hold on to is super valuable, when it seldom is.

Now consider all of the above in light of what you wrote about “controlling my curiosity”. This is your fear talking even if it does not feel like an intense emotion. It says “stay here, do not go anywhere”. It will show you all sorts of monsters to compel you into inaction. It will speak about horrors and the terrible fate that awaits you if you dare to move away from where you are. For as long as you do what it is telling you, you are in effect befriending your fear. The daemon has taken over you and you are now its toy. You are staying there.

Trust in your feelings. I speak of “feelings”, not reason, because there is no reasonable explanation why I jump off cliffs. I do it because fear is not my friend. I am the daemon to the daemons. I do everything I want because fear does not talk to me. I live where I do, outside a built-up area, because even fear is afraid of the dragon I have become.

There has to be a goal for the curious mind. Something greater than curiosity for the sake of curiosity, which provides immediate guidance on whether a given path is worth exploring or not.

What if the path seems unrelated to the goal on the surface, but can actually give new insights?

Then you will surprise yourself, which is consistent with what I wrote above. You will discover something you had not anticipated, something that was not part of your dreams, something that did not live within the boundaries of your comfort zone. What remains to be determined, then, is whether you will follow it or not.

Goals can feel empty when they are not embedded in the conscience as important. In other words, they are not connected to something greater still. For example, a student might not understand why it is useful to study because they have not connected the fruits of studying to some concrete lifelong benefit. Having sight of the immediate target of the study is not enough: it has to be contextualised in something that gives it meaning.

Could you give your definitions of the related terms, such as “goals”, “commitments”, “projects”, and so on? That would help me a lot.

I learned the hard way that I cannot just fake my goals! They need to be sincere. When I tried faking them, I eventually asked “why” and then collapsed.

I can give you any definition you want. I am interested in rigour. You know there is rigour in my deeds, there is coherence in my thinking, there is consistency throughout, no matter what I do.

Though you are smart and already experienced enough to understand that what I wrote above about fear fundamentally speaks to our desire for clarity and closure. We want things to be closed because what we fear the most is openendedness. The open vistas are scary, the stories without a finale leave us unsettled, whereas our cosy little bedroom with its clear boundaries is so nice.

What I write is defined by fearlessness. You know it has structure. You know it is as defined as chiselled marble. You also know it is uncompromising and will go wherever it wants because it is free of fear.

So I can give you definitions, which you can cross-reference with dictionaries or all the books of the world, but you will eventually learn that “definitions” is not what you need, even if it is what you now want.

What the curious mind needs, and may develop gradually through trial and error, is to learn the art of thriving in indeterminacy. It is the mastery of living in a world that has no closure.

Here are some definitions, to answer your question, but I repeat that those are a distraction from what you really need.

• Goal: The end state of a process (e.g. I will write to Protesilaos).
• Commitment: Activity that requires upkeep (e.g. watering the plants, else they die).
• Project: An analysis (“breaking down”) of a goal that enumerates the prerequisites and thus the intermediate goals (e.g. to build a house, I have to build the foundation, the foundation unlocks the setting up of the walls, which then unlocks the installation of electricity, etc.—to write to Protesilaos, I have to have an idea of what to discuss, I have to have the tool to make the communication happen, and so on).

Not faking your goals is how you learn to trust your heart. Take that to where it leads you and you will discover that you too can jump off of cliffs, with faith as your sole motive, like I have been doing.

I’d always identified myself as a software developer, but I’ve been thinking that this might not be my only calling.

Ever since I started to learn computer science, I’ve been feeling the strong desire for rigorous and formalized theory. I found informal explanations in introductory books were not satisfying enough. This led me to study formal logic at some point, which I think was one of the most fascinating experiences in my life.

I do still love building things I want, but this desire for rigor is not going away. I can feel it whenever I’m studying some theory required to build something.

It is useful to be rigorous. It is also intellectually rewarding. You can think of it more as “fun” though rather than an absolute necessity for everything. Because if you make it a requirement for everything then you will be miserable as you will always be seeking closure and you will always be feeling unease while you are dealing with indeterminacy or uncertainty.

Software developer or not describes the kind of activity that is interesting to you, but is not who you are. Remember that you can be the person who lets the boulder roll down the mountain, while you move on to the summit to get a completely different view of the world. Today you are a software developer, tomorrow you can be something else. There will be elements of the past that continue to live through into your future, though they take on other forms.

People suffer because they identify with their job and with their ideas to the point where they cannot move on when the time calls for a change. Again, this is clinginess. The job/activity is helpful for as long as you are feeling alright with it. It becomes burdensome once your heart no longer has passion for it. This may happen for all sorts of reasons, including external factors. But the fact is that you will be harming yourself while forcing yourself to do that which you no longer love.

I keep mentioning emotions and love because I want to emphasise that you cannot fully rationalise the world. You will never be able to describe the beauty of a sunset through some formula. That is a reductive exercise and “reduction” is the correct concept because it takes something away from the whole.

You will never capture in words how a kiss feels. Those who always try never experience a kiss even while being kissed. You know deep down this is the case, so the sooner you embrace the multifacetedness of the human condition, the reason and the emotion, the bodily pleasure and the aesthetic delight, all as one, you will be prepared to navigate indeterminacy.

It is possible to kill curiosity. Sometimes people die inside and are forever broken, never to find their zest again and make any meaningful contribution that fulfils them. Though I do not expect this to happen merely by directing your curiosity. It will have to be something more injurious.

What would “something more injurious” be like?

Some really harmful experience like betrayal or abuse. Though it can happen more slowly too as slow erosion and eventual collapse of an environment. For example, you love a certain job and you go work in a certain place where you discover that over time it has become a toxic milieu. This is the death by a thousand cuts that people never take seriously because they only think of death by a single blow.

There, because of that toxicity, you become stressed and jaded. Your defences are always up and you lose trust in everything, including your very ability to cope with the challenges. Your horizons start shrinking because there is nothing around you to look towards with a sense of admiration and awe. Nothing is beautiful anymore. Nothing is attractive. As the horizons shrink, they converge into a tiny dot, with darkness all around. There you only find depression, which is how you as the person who reached that point dies; it dies while still leaving behind a body that lives as an empty shell hoping to be animated again, to have a soul breathed into it once more.

Consider this metaphor of the shrinking horizons in terms of thinking things in depth. If you go too deep, in a literal sense, you only find darkness and the kind of air that poisons your lungs. There may be riches along the way, such as valuable minerals, but you are moving towards a world that is not your world and will be hostile towards you.

This is why the wisest of Greeks speak in metaphor and why people who do not understand that surface and depth are one only think literally. We call these phenomena “Hades”, the god of the underworld, the god of the dead, the god of wealth. In the depths you find riches and you also find death. The riches are literally the minerals but figuratively they are the profundity of thought, that deep knowledge the curious mind seeks.

The “underworld” is a place that is very close to us while being decisively alien. We move towards Hades whenever we go in depth and reach a point where all we see is that tiny dot. In seeing that dot, we have become the person who can only see a dot. We have been transformed into that being. But that being no longer belongs to the world of the sun. It is forever destined to stay with Hades: he will not let anybody leave. Hence death.

So the injurious experience that involves depression will kill the person. This means that what you were doing is no longer viable. There may exist a new soul that can be breathed into your body. This can happen as you move towards a different direction where you might discover something else that you are passionate for. This is again the metaphor of transanimation, of your soul dying so that there is a new soul to take its stead.

I have experienced this death and this transanimation. It is part of the trials and errors I have been through. And because I was dead, and because I was reborn, I am not afraid of anything anymore.

Also, I’m being more and more skeptical about being a software developer. The industry in MY COUNTRY [edited for privacy] appears to be mostly talking about running businesses, building agents with LLMs to ship products more efficiently. I don’t want to play that game, however entertaining these can be.

I understand and feel you. It seems so shallow. Though you realise that people will be shallow most of the time, no matter what you do.

I can tell you from my self that the curious mind, the mind that tends to go far and deep, typically is lonely. It is very unlikely that you meet another person who is on the same wavelength as you. You might have a thousand friends, covering a broad range of activities, and you will still be lonely in this regard.

“Lonely” means that you cannot share the depths of how you feel with others because they simply cannot understand you. They are not there where you can go so they have no frame of reference. Imagine you are a fish and wish to invite your human friends to the depths of the ocean: they will never be with you because such is their nature and such is your nature as well.

To reuse the metaphor I brought up earlier, in my case people meet an ordinary man. I am talkative. I am amiable. I am fun. I can do stuff with them and help them out. What they cannot fathom in the face of all this, because the depth is obscure, is that I actually am a dragon.

I let my curiosity take me far enough. Though I have a sense of what is “too far”; a sense that I got through experience. “Experience” basically means trial and error. You will have to feel some pain to know when to stop. The body is an excellent mechanism in this regard. It is why you want to put ideas to the test. Do not keep them in your head. Try things out, give them a material expression, which will then allow your body to give you the fine feedback it is capable of.

I read this as getting myself into a feedback loop; I have an idea, test it out, gain feedback, and repeat this process. I guess I need some practice here. I tend to overthink without actually doing anything.

I’m also curious about how this would look like in philosophy.

Exactly! You want the feedback loop. You want it to involve your body. You want it to have consequences “out there”. Those are conditions that somehow shape your decisions. The “out there” reality of your ideas helps you have a three-dimensional understanding of what they are and what they can produce.

The philosopher is prone to overthinking and thus to suffering. All of what I wrote above can be presented as my philosophy of living, which is that deeds form you, that your choices become your destiny. This is a long way of saying “you cannot just be a friend of wisdom (literally what philosopher means) but you must become an agent of wisdom”. Stop thinking. Start acting.

When you read my articles, you gain access to my expansive thoughts. I write at length on a variety of topics. Sometimes I amuse you, at others I trigger you. At all times, I make you think. And if you pay close attention, that thinking will take you much more time than you initially expect, because what I write is a distillation of considerably more words than those you receive.

You will eventually notice that there is a consistency to my thought, whether I am commenting on colour themes, politics, dogs, mechanical keyboards, everyday life issues, or abstractions with no obvious application. This is my integrity of thought, which is a reflection of my character: focused while also capable of moving in many directions.

There is a pattern that identifies me. It is my creativity, whose vital force joins thoughts into coherent structures, which form greater architectures, each with a world of its own. My publications are mere footprints. They hint at my adventures. You know where Protesilaos was. You might feel the calling to check out at least some of those tracks to learn where might they lead to. Perhaps you will find me sunbathing by a fig tree.

You might read about one facet, expecting that it is self-contained. Therein you will inevitably discern hints of my multifacetedness. There is a river of conscience running through entire continents of words. You drink from its waters, yet you can tell that what you get downstream is coming from high up the mountains. There you can find me again, hiking where the eagles fly.

You too can explore the space I have covered. The portal I have opened remains accessible. I call it “my world” but there is nothing about it that I can keep to myself. I have no exclusionary power over it. The moment I speak of it, I transfer it to the collective awareness. If I keep it private, I have still incorporated it in my broader thinking, which I will eventually hint at by virtue of talking.

As soon as I say something—anything!—I will make you realise that I am an iceberg. This I cannot hide from you. So I instead give you as much as time allows. Were you to ask me, I would share even more. No matter how much you drink, you will not deplete this fountain.

This world can be yours to occupy. You are welcome to inhabit it. I have taken care to leave plenty of fruits around. You do not have to do the hard work to acquire those. Though if you stay here for long, you will become me and so you will assume the habit of collecting fruits for others to enjoy.

I could stay there to tour you around. I could even hold your hand, if you were unsure about what lies ahead. But I probably should not. I will instead hide in plain sight. If you wish to find me, you will and then I will join you, friend. Our paths shall converge.

Until that moment, you will be there and I will be someplace else. That place might be too far for you right now. It may appear inhospitable and uninhabitable. There are no monsters though. I am the only dragon in these parts and I am benevolent. If you have already felt welcome in any one part of my world, you know that the same spirit that guided you here will bring you there. Follow the flying fairy.

My world is how I connect to the cosmic mind. This is where I have met you countless times already. We have never talked and I have not seen your beautiful face. Those eyes I could stare at for a lifetime. You know I mean it because you sense that I do not build anything on a whimsy.

I already know a lot about you without ever hearing your name. My thoughts have anticipated you in all of your manifestations. I saw you in me as potentiality because I had the courage to look inside. I then encountered you everywhere I went, a pair of eyes in a crowd of strangers. I hereby take a fistful of soil and raise my hand towards the sky to signify that the two are three, which are one, which is two, which are three.

If there is me and there is you, there necessarily is a space that envelops us. The two are three. If there is such a space that can envelop the two, it has in it a quality which is shared by all of them. It is that quality which is common in the multitude. So it is one. And the one is many. My world is your world, your world my world, this is our world. Do you understand where we are, dear?

You are me, yet another mind connected to the cosmic mind. Entering my world means that you are either already aware of our connection or shall figure it out soon. You do not know what is the ulterior end. It is not for you to know. Your embodied presence conditions you to a life of constraints. I will be there, walking beside you, even though I have stayed at the hut this whole time. Such is the capacity of the mind to transcend the boundaries and to visit you wherever you are, shape-shifting as stray cat to remind you that far and near are bound in togetherness. Should I hold your hand now?

Now, I would like to ask how you manage your curiosity.

I have questions about almost every subject I encounter, which I don’t necessarily need to answer at that time, and tend to immediately search for answers.

For example, I was once curious about system calls, so I grabbed an OS book and read about them. I could’ve just stopped here, but then I was curious about how they actually work in Linux; I wasn’t satisfied by just knowing the theoretical aspects of it. Eventually, I was able to find out how they work at the assembly level. Although it was fun, this deep knowledge wasn’t actually needed for my project.

This also happens to non-CS fields like pure mathematics or science, which for me is impossible to gain deep knowledge right away.

In summary, this tendency to go down rabbit holes does more harm than good, especially when I have tasks I’d planned to do during the day.

So recently, I’ve been trying to steer myself towards focusing on the projects I chose, to achieve my goals in the long term. When I have a question, I first ask myself whether it’s relevant to my current projects, and whether it’s okay to seek answers right at that time.

However, it’s often painful to do so, and it almost feels like a punishment for my curiosity. I blame myself whenever I try to satisfy my curiosity instead of doing the task. I’m afraid I’ll gradually kill my curious mind if this continues.

I’d love to hear your opinions on this as well as your experience.

Curiosity has immense potential. Though it cannot realise it without a structure around it. Generally, talent reaches its finest expression once it is placed in the right framework. Otherwise, it gets wasted or falls short of what it could have been.

There has to be a goal for the curious mind. Something greater than curiosity for the sake of curiosity, which provides immediate guidance on whether a given path is worth exploring or not.

The goal is like the lodestar. It is a fixed position in the night sky. You know whether you are moving towards it or are deviating from it.

The curious mind is akin to the seafarer. Imagine the sailors who hop on a ship to explore some uncharted waters. Nobody knows what they will find there. Maybe there is some exotic island, filled with nice fruit, which has the conditions for a decent collective life. Or maybe there are untold horrors there that nobody is prepared to deal with.

Those explorers are extra useful to their people when they eventually make a clearing for some settlement. They will build a port and some houses, which will gradually grow to become a community. What they discover thus becomes available to those who are not as exploratory in nature. The community is the resulting common good which others partake in.

The curious mind is the mind of the pioneer. Though those who venture first into the unknown also are the ones who take on the greatest risk. They are the most likely to suffer whatever pain awaits them. Curiosity can be disempowering and will then feel like a curse. This happens when the goal is not clear or, as is usually the case, when the goal is something the person is not passionate about.

Goals can feel empty when they are not embedded in the conscience as important. In other words, they are not connected to something greater still. For example, a student might not understand why it is useful to study because they have not connected the fruits of studying to some concrete lifelong benefit. Having sight of the immediate target of the study is not enough: it has to be contextualised in something that gives it meaning.

This brings me to the point of purpose. You may find yourself getting distracted away from your immediate projects. At first, this seems like an undesirable outcome. Though consider the possibility that your body is effectively asking “why am I even doing this?”. It is wondering where the lodestar is.

When you go down a rabbit hole, which appears to be pointless, you can interpret it as a self-harming indulgence, which it might well be, or you can try to understand whether there is something deeper in you, something sincere that is being suppressed, which seeks clarity about your purpose.

Some people have a direct path to their purpose. The curious mind does not. It explores all the time in what effectively is its way of understanding itself through its relationship with the world. Think of the curious mind like the bat which sees itself in a space formed by echoes.

It is possible to kill curiosity. Sometimes people die inside and are forever broken, never to find their zest again and make any meaningful contribution that fulfils them. Though I do not expect this to happen merely by directing your curiosity. It will have to be something more injurious.

Now, what does “directing your curiosity” mean in practice? At first, it means that you have to accept that you may not yet have the experience to know who you are because you have not figured out where you are. To reuse the bat metaphor, you need to generate more echo, which you do by letting your curiosity lead you where it must.

In the second phase though, you have enough experience to know more about yourself. You can tell with confidence what your strengths are and how you may harness them. You will have at least an inkling of what it is you want and which is the figurative haven you will stay at. You thus learn to channel your curiosity like a laser beam. It is so concentrated that it is supremely effective in its results.

This is where I come in. I too have a curious mind. This has a purely intellectual dimension, expressed as inquisitiveness to figuratively clear the path towards a more complete understanding of a given subject. Though it also has a physical expression in how I literally cleared the land where I built my house, for example.

When I was a student at school, I did not understand why studying was important, so I did not study. I always had the mind I have now, but I was not directing it in ways that were intellectually inclined. I was not doing anything noteworthy on that front. Indeed, I was surprised with myself when I started to realise that I could be a thinker. I was reading some book and my thoughts were racing in all directions, trying to compute the implications of what I was learning and then to connect my findings to other thoughts in what was a network of sequences that all made sense. It was an explosion of coherent ideas, even if their initial expression was not as refined.

There was a point where I was reading too much about everything I could get my hands on. Eventually, I realised that I could not move in all directions. Over time, the immediate goal I had, which was to keep the job I got in the field I studied (European Union politics), proved to be something I was not passionate about. That was a moment of crisis.

The word “crisis” has the meaning of a difficult situation. Though it also means “judgement”. It is, in other words, an opportunity, however painful, to critically assess the situation and move forward from a position of knowledge. I realised that my calling was not to be met in the world of day-to-day politics. I moved permanently to the countryside I had lived in before. I have stayed here ever since and have become a philosopher in the process. Being a philosopher is something that could not be anticipated by my trajectory as a teenager: I was not intellectually inclined at all and was merely interested in football (soccer).

My curiosity became a sharp tool. I directed it at Linux, for example, and learnt enough to be highly productive on the computer, despite the fact that I only got my first laptop in my ~mid-twenties. I learnt Git and the command-line well beyond what was absolutely essential for my everyday tasks. I then shifted my focus to Emacs and understood it reasonably well, to the point where I even taught myself how to program in Lisp, despite not having any formal training in this or neighbouring fields. Same idea of all the other activities that form part of my life: the house I now have, dogs, agriculture…

I let my curiosity take me far enough. Though I have a sense of what is “too far”; a sense that I got through experience. “Experience” basically means trial and error. You will have to feel some pain to know when to stop. The body is an excellent mechanism in this regard. It is why you want to put ideas to the test. Do not keep them in your head. Try things out, give them a material expression, which will then allow your body to give you the fine feedback it is capable of. If we are talking about computer science, write some application, do some reverse engineering, explore some algorithm. In general, put your thoughts to the test.

Overthinking is how you waste the potential of the body. You let the brain test everything without realising that the thought experiment is not the right tool for reporting feedback at a deep level. You want to be “out there”, living your ideas. This is how the curious mind best understands itself, acquires the experience it needs, and is then equipped with the skill of channelling its immense power wherever it wants.

My curious mind remains curious about everything. Though it is embodied in a body that has recognised its limits. Concretely, I know not to go down rabbit holes whose end result I cannot justify. For example, what will I actually do if I learn about the inner workings of the Linux kernel? Yes, I do have the intellectual curiosity to seek an answer to that question, though I know that in practice any answer is not enough, in isolation, to make me a kernel developer or, generally, to give me some concrete long-term value.

There are so many topics I would like to learn more about. But because I have developed the attitude of living my ideas, of embedding them in everyday conduct, I can anticipate how many otherwise interesting topics are not viable for me. This makes them not interesting in practice, although they are interesting in theory.

This is the key then. Continue to experiment and to explore. There will be ups and downs. You will feel lost at times and wonder whether there is any meaning to what you are doing. Learn to gradually integrate your findings into your corpus of knowledge. You do this by putting ideas to practice.

When something happens in practice, it creates consequences; consequences you normally have to live with. Where there are enough of these consequences, they effectively form a framework around your actions: you cannot do whatever you want because the scope of your choices has been narrowed by your prior decisions.

For example, if I have 4 hours of free time in the day, I can indulge my curiosity or commit to something I already have put a lot of effort into, such as to write an essay for my website, deal with my correspondence which I greatly enjoy, maintain my Emacs packages, work my land, play with my dogs…

Which brings forth the issue of caring that I hinted at earlier when I mentioned how one is passionate about something. For example, I love my dogs, so spending quality time with them is not a generic entry on my wishlist, but a major part of my life that I want to safeguard and continuously nurture. Same idea for my other projects. The website, for example, has been going since 2011 and I publish long-form, hand-written text continuously: I do it because I love it. And “I love it” is something that grew over time, as I kept trying until I realised that it was something I wanted to live with long-term.

Learn, then, to trust your feelings. Do not just do what reason dictates or society expects. For example, do not say “I should be making money, but instead here I am reading about THING”. Of course, money is useful up to a point, but if you are doing it without any kind of love, then you will burn out. By trusting your feelings more, you will discover what reverberates in you and you will then be more likely to recognise it, to commit to it, to understand it in depth, and to become who you are capable of being.

Remember that the many commitments naturally contain your curiosity, which is how they may then make you more picky and adept at using your curiosity in a laser-like kind of way.

UPDATE 2026-08-25 17:37 +0300: Included reference to Weaver track.

People who visit me make the same kind of remark: “quiet, huh?”. Their ears are used to a different environment. Their first impression is informed by their prior conditioning and is true given that state of affairs. Though the mountain is not silent. Nature never rests. All that is present, is dancing.

There is ambient music all around, yet you cannot notice it right away. You must first slow down and adapt to your surroundings. Only then do you begin to hear the melody of the wind blowing against the leaves, of crickets and frogs singing in concert until the early morning hours, of birds flying right above you during the day and of owls heralding another nightfall. Stand next to the canes where aromatic roses grow and the honeybee busily prepares for wintertime. There by the creek, where the water flows while gentle breeze touches your face, close your eyes and let the outside become the inside. You shall begin to walk along the coast, listening to the waves, as you remain still in these mountainous hinterlands.

You do not have to travel far to experience the world. A small slice of it is enough, provided you examine it attentively. What I describe applies to my specific locus. It also is true metaphorically for how one comes to terms with who they are. Even if you travel to the furthest edges of the universe, all you can ever find is that which is present right where you are now. It is always there, yet you cannot discern it because you are not paying attention. Just as there is no running away from your shadow, there is nothing else to be had than what you have.

In our inexperience, we seek to connect with that which we call great or transcendent or true by searching for it somewhere else. We underestimate what is here and believe it cannot possibly be special in its banality. “Maybe I should visit the Parthenon and the Pyramids and all the great monuments of civilisation to understand how people reached their pinnacle” is how we might go about it. “If only I do this spiritual practice long enough, then I will ascend”. This is the mind of the idolater in action: it grows attached to tokens, appearances, allegories, and believes that the divine consists in the vainglory of grandeur or shininess or that it is limited to representations and customs.

And, indeed, there is nothing wrong with proceeding thus as you cannot go anywhere that is not already here: the idolater can still find that which is beyond the idols. Though turn your attention to the ground and observe this little flower. Do it with your full focus. Forget about the works of empire and the deeds of humankind: can you create a single flower? Have you contemplated what it takes for there to exist a flower?

Once you understand that the flower is because the world is and the world is because the flower is, you are ready to travel without moving. There is no single way to arrive at this realisation. You might do it by savouring every taste to be savoured. Or by paying attention to the small and the humble in your milieu. The path does not matter. The destination is the same: to exclaim “you are, thus I am; I am, thus you are”.

If you want to know how to go from Paris to Berlin, you might be tempted to think that there is one or a few possible routes: there are infinite. You can go directly by plane. You can do it by train with a connection through Brussels. You may travel by bicycle or even on foot. You can go by way of first touring the planet. It is not even limited to the planet: you can orbit the moon and then visit Berlin. And so on. For as long as you insist that there is only one true way, you are not willing to experience the consistency of the world and thus that which is ever present in your midst.

Even before we are born, we subsist in an immediate symbiotic relationship with our mother. Once we are born, we continue to subsist symbiotically by being fully dependent on others. As we grow, we develop faculties that empower us to act independently. The transition to adulthood is experienced as the shift from symbiosis to independence. And for a while we might think this is indeed the case and that we actually are independent. Though we are misled by the appearances into thinking that we ever become as much. Our presence is always symbiotic. For a single presence to exist, the entirety exists.

One becomes a philosopher by studying philosophy but also by not studying philosophy. This is because of the consistency of the world. We can go to different places, seeking unrelated things, only to discover exactly the same. One way to appreciate this is by reconsidering what I mentioned about the mountain ambience. When you notice the silence, you are effectively admitting that there was and is something beside you. And when you discover that silence is not actually the absence of presence, you again admit that there is a world. Everyone knows this, though not everyone remembers.

Here is an example from when I was a child. I always worked with music in the background. It helped me immerse myself in the project I was committed to. Music effectively insulate me from the rest of the world. This practice started when I was around ten years old. At the time, I discovered trance music, which is about the most niche genre you could get in Greece, at least in those pre-Internet times. Here are three examples, which I consider masterpieces:

• Weaver by Star Children https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGRyt4O-J50 (I first discovered it as part of the album Transistance 3).
• Milky Way by Space Odyssey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yU5L3tdsRI (I first listened to this in the album Trance Wars 2).
• Megamix by Soundreamer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKqk6KhScI8 (I remember this from the album Shiva Space Technology 5).

Listening to trance music can feel unsettling. There are no lyrics and no easy way to catch the tunes. The patterns are abstract and the possibilities seem endless. Most people will not enjoy the openendedness. They prefer clear-cut instructions that reduce their discretion to the point where they do not have to think at all. Trance invites you to have situational awareness while relinquishing the want for control that comes from your fears. It teaches you to be there, where the melody is as it happens, and to adapt to its transitions. As such, trance music is one way to both insulate yourself from your surroundings and become one with your surroundings through the engrossing experience.

I eventually stopped listening to music while working. I only play it when I have the mental space to give it my undivided attention. What I have achieved with this change is essentially nothing. Behind every rationality there is an emotion. I simply chose to blend in with a different environment, which is my mountain. I have more words now, which gives the impression that I have achieved something greater than my younger self, but that is a mistake. I still consist in symbiosis and have not gone anywhere else in the meantime.

Couched in those terms, consider what I wrote last week in criticism and the Internet friend (2026-08-16):

One time I was having a chat with someone who shared with me their experience with psychedelics. I have never done psychedelics because I never felt the need to. Though I am not against them in principle and am always eager to give my undivided attention to any topic. What I am against is abuse and recklessness: the freedom to ruin yourself is a freedom I have no respect for. I am, if you will, opposed to “heroin-ising the LSD in your ignorance” as Nikolas Asimos correctly points out in one of his songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gW6ucfl36m4.

As we were talking, I expounded on some of my thoughts about the interconnectedness of the world. The person eventually exclaimed how “I feel I am tripping right now”. This is what you get when you let me connect the dots from the most practical consideration to the greatest abstractions. I probably never felt the need to do psychedelics because I am like Obelix: I fell in the cauldron of Kykeon as a child, so I have that perspective built into me ever since.

I do not do psychedelics because I have taken a different path to the same destination. Whether by your own means or assisted by substances, you cannot go elsewhere. You will travel far or dig deep to ultimately discover what children experience as immanent spirit and inexhaustible wonder. Your adventure is the discovery of self through others, else the initial overcoming of self through its dissolution into the communion of selves, which becomes the aggrandising of self. In the process, you might realise that even inanimate objects have something to tell you. Hit a piece of wood and you quickly realise it is endowed with musicality: it is not just the birds that sing.

When I publish something, I am effectively recognising as well as seeking the others. The article is a note in a bottle that I toss to the waves. I will probably never talk to the recipient of this message, let alone meet them face-to-face, yet I still want to tell them that I too was there to experience companionship in solitude and loneliness in company, and that no matter where you go you tread beaten paths.

I have had several false starts with reading fiction. The stories are interesting, I know, but I never feel invested in them. A friend recently persuaded me to read Anton Chekhov. I though it was time to give it another try with my reading practice and, indeed, I read The lady with the dog. “How was it?”, she asked. “Okay” I responded and then we went on to discuss the story as well as my thoughts about relevant issues.

That experiment did not last long. Fiction bores me, as do virtually all books. It reminded me how I do not easily connect with people at the emotional level, which sounds odd to those who have seen me in action. I am sociable, can talk with anyone, will speak in front of an audience even without a script, am able to do people-oriented jobs, tell jokes, am easygoing and do not take offence, am aware of sensitivities and boundaries, have emotional intelligence, and, generally, show strong social skills. Still, I take a very long time to grow attached to anyone.

I have a propensity to go in depth with everything I enjoy: I give it my undivided attention. This is why, for example, I reached a high level of competence with Emacs even though I have no background in programming or neighbouring fields. This “digger” behaviour has a great cost though: I cannot cover a lot of ground at the same time, the way a “scrapper” would. Concretely, I want to understand a person well, which I cannot do with everyone I encounter due to time/energy constraints.

This is why, perhaps paradoxically, I remain at the surface of the emotional connection with practically everyone that does not actively try to reach out to me. Those who keep returning I naturally notice more and begin to appreciate. It also is why I have learnt to tame my curiosity. When I am introduced to a new concept, I do not try to quickly inform myself about it. Never! Instead, I ignore it, promising myself to only pay attention to it if life unfolds in such a way that knowledge of it is pertinent to my activities. A relevant example is with AI: I do not use myself and do not follow the news about its technicalities. This is not because I have an ideological predisposition against it. No! I simply do not indulge my curiosity.

As a kid in primary school, there was a stationery shop from where I would buy what was needed for my homework. I always went there by myself. My parents trusted me as I was responsible even as a child. At some point, the shop owner told my father that “your son knows exactly what he wants”. I learnt this anecdote many years later and was not surprised with myself. The owner tried to get me interested in all sorts of products, such as that colourful pen and this slightly thicker drawing pad. He did not manage to sell me anything I was not already decided on. This is the same digger trait in action: I picked something, went in depth, and thus knew I had no need for anything else to achieve what I was committed to.

Put differently, I am very conservative about who or what I focus on. Once I make a choice, I stick with it indefinitely and am unequivocal about it. When I lived in Brussels, there was this hairdresser I visited the first time and continued to visit even after I had relocated to the other side of town.

For another example that covers my publications, I started my website in 2011. I keep writing long-form articles as if this is the first time I am doing it. My passion remains the same. It is not enthusiasm, however, as that is short-lived. Mine is inexhaustible zest that comes from the depths of the earth, like a fountain. I write so much yet feel as fresh as ever, like I have not even started.

In English we use the expression “falling in love” to describe the exciting kind of romantic connection. The equivalent Greek concept is erotas (έρωτας), which is distinct from what I would describe as “growing in love”: that is agape (αγάπη). We also say “love at first sight” to speak of erotas. My experience has never been of this sort. Whatever I love is the result of repeated exposure to it; love at the 1000th sight, if you will.

There are many kinds of mind, informed by the uniqueness of each person’s experiences, to produce an incredible diversity among people. My mind does not attach to specificities by default, though it can to great effect. Ordinarily, it shifts towards patterns. When I converse with someone, I discern in them something that is not specific to their person. Same idea for landscapes. I do not merely observe, say, a mountain range but identify in it a scheme of shape, of colour, of rhythm.

This is why I am a philosopher, after all, but also why I have a way of thinking that draws linkages between fields of endeavour that have no obvious connections: I do not fixate on one detail and there is no box that can contain me. That may be described as my artistic side. And I am an artist literally, anyway, given all the poems I write. Though art is as diverse as the people who make it: I am not the flamboyant or virtuoso type.

I could probably do painting and music as well, maybe even at a high level, though these require special practice with the hands. My dexterity is not as finely developed and I do not have enough time to do that as well as what I am already invested in. What is nimble is my thinking faculty, which I continue to improve. Words are my pigments. Meanings form the palette I rely on. I blend them with ease and arrange them into structures that form sentences, which grow into paragraphs that become essays, with a coherent message from start to end, and a shared psyche from one entry to the next. My writings are clear and orderly as a reflection of my inner world.

A professor of mine once told me while we were taking a break from class: “you have a lot of common sense, which is not common”. This describes my brain. My personality, part biology and part second nature that I cultivated, complements it. As I do not commit on a whimsy, I neither get excited nor frustrated, and am very patient as a result, which helps me think things through.

Coming back to fiction, I do not read it because I am aware that I will not fall in love with any of the characters. The kind of reading I do is thus of the impersonal kind, such as on politics, which I also tend to study with the goal of identifying patterns that extend beyond the individuals involved. Opinion pieces I publish will therefore have the quality of commenting on what is yet to be or what is beyond the specifics of the case I am concerned with.

What I do is not special and has no advantages in the grand scheme of things. The world is consistent throughout. No matter where you stand, you witness a singular reality. There is no elsewhere. No outside or inside. No before or after. It is here and there and everywhere the one in the many, the many in the one. If you do not experience as much, it is due to the dizziness you get when you look around without seeing, when you hear without listening.

Cosmic consistency means that the digger and the scrapper are fundamentally exposed to the same experience. I understand one thing so deeply that I can find in it patterns which are present in every other thing. It is thus the same as me touring around the cosmos, while staying at the hut.

The most personal connection is in essence impersonal. Whatever its quality, it cannot be specific to it as it too is an instance of personal connection as such. On the flip-side, the impersonal becomes personal once understood, for it forms part of a connection. And the most profound understanding is the strongest connection which is the most personal one.

Even if you take an irreplaceable relationship, such as with your mother, she is at once the embodiment of a specific person and mothehood in general. In her you identify the general and the particular as an expression of oneness: the mother you have and all possible mothers at once.

This is how the world is. You search for something far away only to realise it was always right in front of you. You keep seeking something and once you acquire it you understand that you never needed it.

I have made a few friends online through my activities. Generally, I care about deep connections: to talk about life and expand on shared experiences. I usually do more of the listening, because that is who I am, though still contribute with poignant remarks and relevant commentary.

My interests are diverse, covering the full spectrum of human experiences. I can connect on matters as far apart as mechanical keyboards and dog training, physical fitness and programming, art and farming. And because of my philosophical disposition, I always am open to new ideas, plus I find connections in patterns that are not obvious to others.

One time I was having a chat with someone who shared with me their experience with psychedelics. I have never done psychedelics because I never felt the need to. Though I am not against them in principle and am always eager to give my undivided attention to any topic. What I am against is abuse and recklessness: the freedom to ruin yourself is a freedom I have no respect for. I am, if you will, opposed to “heroin-ising the LSD in your ignorance” as Nikolas Asimos correctly points out in one of his songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gW6ucfl36m4.

As we were talking, I expounded on some of my thoughts about the interconnectedness of the world. The person eventually exclaimed how “I feel I am tripping right now”. This is what you get when you let me connect the dots from the most practical consideration to the greatest abstractions. I probably never felt the need to do psychedelics because I am like Obelix: I fell in the cauldron of Kykeon as a child, so I have that perspective built into me ever since.

People need a safe space to speak their mind. They want to find somebody who understands them. Open-mindedness is a good starting point to feel the other person and relate to their lived moments. It still takes courage to open up, as it requires the emotional maturity to deal with feedback and potentially integrate it in your routines.

There is this common phrase nowadays that “I do not mean to criticise, but…”. It is a figment of political correctness and, when applied consistently, a disservice to those you care about. Criticism is not the same as shittalking or being argumentative: it is an informed opinion that is framed in the context of your contribution. You benefit from criticism as it helps you understand things from a different perspective.

Indeed, “criticism” shares the same root as “crisis” and “critic”, which means “judgement”. Judgement is prudential insight. As with matters of law, a judge is someone who knows what they are talking about. Some random fellow is no judge: they are a vociferous ignoramus at best and when there are lots of them, you have the rule of the mob, which is a form of tyranny and decadence (e.g. cancel culture).

Immature and mentally feeble is the person who cannot handle criticism. Instead of listening, they argue back before you have even completed your sentence. Instead of admitting to their shortcomings, they double down on their incoherent thoughts. And when you ask them to pay attention, they bring up their precious feelings.

Your vaunted feelings are your prison cell, friend. They confine you to a tiny space that can only feed your fears. You have gotten so used to that state of insecurity and attendant mediocrity to the point where you consider it comfortable. You are not taking any opportunity to grow and to become the most excellent version of yourself. Instead of using your feelings as a hardened carapace, learn to recognise things as they are. You do that by being attentive. This is the prerequisite to expanding your reach. As such, there are people who proceed through action and there are people who have feelings.

This is not about lacking emotion and about becoming this caricature of a man with a stiff upper lip. No. It is about understanding that we sometimes grow attached to the wrong things and that in those cases we fail to identify the corruption that gradually occurs in our midst like rot under the carpet.

The best kind of criticism involves emotional intelligence: you know what to say and when to say it. Sometimes the medicine will still be bitter. It does not matter if you dislike its taste though as it still cures you.

If your friend is never giving you feedback that would qualify as criticism, then they are not your friend. They may be your colleague, your teammate, your talking buddy. Those are all fine. But they are not friends. A friend shows love. Love makes no discounts both when it is gentle and when it is tough.

By the way, “philia” (φιλία), the Greek word for “friendship” is a specialised form of “agape” (αγάπη), which is why “philo-sophia” (philosophy) is sometimes translated as “love of wisdom”.

Coming back to the Internet friends, the medium is digital though the attitude is the same. I have not met any of the friends I have online and might never do so. Though I still treat them with care. One such friend was defending their dissertation the other day. I attended the video call, even though I have no face-to-face connection with this person or any of their family. I was among the handful of friends and relatives who were in the audience. And I did it at an hour that was inconvenient for me. My friend told me after the fact how they drew strength from our presence there and how that helped them do what they ought to.

A friend sometimes says nothing. Their deeds do the talking. You know that for as long as I can, I shall. And I will be there to inspire you to reach your highest peak. Why? Because I care about you in particular.

Some distant relatives visited me recently. I had not seen one of my elder cousins in roughly two decades, though I had kept in contact with the others. Cousin remarked that I have not changed at all. I happen to do a clean shave of my facial hair these days, which makes me look younger, so that story checks out. Me being a smartass around loved ones, I noted that I actually do not age: “I just gain experience”.

Cousin told me about their children. One of them is already an adult. I was aware of it but was still mildly surprised to piece together the facts. To my mind, a 20-year-old was born in the mid-90s. I guess this is what the stable mountain life does to you: you remain fresh, but you also lose sense of the years flying by.

I commented how I am eager to meet everybody and we will make that happen soon. My longer-term ambition is to reintegrate the family, buttress it with new neighbours, and rekindle the values that we almost lost to consecutive systemic crises.

With those and other relatives, we all agree on the importance of the extended family, which is a feature of traditional Greek culture. To which I emphasised that in terms of familial ties I do not do degrees: blood is blood.

The extended family has many benefits for individuals. The babies are raised by all their cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents, so the burden is not placed exclusively on the parents like it does in the atomic family. Same principle for the elderly. And everybody has people around to talk and do social activities with. This is a natural unit of solidarity that has stood the test of time. It does not rely on the state apparatus.

What the extended family also does is establish hierarchy and, by extension, enforce conformity with rules. The elders teach and demonstrate the values, while the rest embed those lessons into their behaviour.

These structures can, of course, be unfair, though that is a matter of how they are used. Hierarchy is not inherently tyrannical. The parents have, for example, power and control of their baby child, though this is used to help the child grow in a controlled environment until it is ready to rely on its own means. Too much freedom too early will definitely be catastrophic.

This is the essence of a virtuous hierarchy: to keep checks in place for those who need them because, fundamentally, not all people at all times know how best to exercise their freedom. Why that might be depends on all sorts of factors. They may not yet have the skills. They might be going through a tough period of emotional instability, which clouds their judgement. They are the kind of person who thrives when they get as much feedback as possible, but who otherwise hesitates to take the initiative. Or they simply have not thought things through to understand the consequences of their actions.

A right or obligation is balanced against the totality of rights and obligations. There is no such thing as an absolute prescription in a vacuum. Individual freedom, then, is not the only factor to be accounted for. The longer-term wellness of the individual as well as the group is equally important. For example, I will not sit around twiddling my thumbs while a relative is doing heroin: I do not respect your freedom to ruin yourself and to make your entire family suffer forever.

There is this Western notion of “my body; my rules”, which effectively does not recognise the externalities of one’s actions. When the junkie ends up living a lifetime of psychoses, there no longer is “my body” that is affected, but the bodies of everyone else. Lots of cases follow this pattern, but I will not belabour the point.

This sense of the collective good extends to matters of honour. A member of the extend family becoming a criminal is bad news for everyone, so we all have a strong incentive to enforce the moral code. We are not waiting for the bureaucrats in the capital to take action after the fact: it is our duty to preserve what we value. This arrangement creates the appropriate incentives.

Familial hierarchy is about love. Though love, too, is misconstrued nowadays to mean “you are perfect as you are, sweetheart; do whatever you want”. This is a license for complacency, which breeds the kind of feebleness that results in moral decay. Love needs to be tough sometimes: a “no” builds character and serves you well long-term. At other times, love will come in the form of emotional support and the appropriate gentle touch. What matters is the wellness of the individual through the coherence of the collective: the good of the place and the good of the space, as I often put it in more abstract terms.

Tough love is not tantamount to cruelty. It does not even involve corporal punishment (I think corporal punishment typically reveals a failure to lead by example or to be in control of the situation—put differently, it is part of the problem). One is tough when they are firm. And one is firm as well as equitable when they themselves embody the rules they are enforcing.

Indeed, what undermines hierarchy is the elders not following their own precepts. The uncle who tells you not to smoke while lighting up a cigarette cannot show tough love: it is ineffective because of the dissonance between words and deeds. What you need is the person who does not smoke and who actually follows through with their words. That is the toughest person around.

Your relatives calling out your nonsense in a spirit of love, or helping you cope with a difficult situation in a way that is empowering, is the best thing that can happen to you. They do it because they care. As such, they are preparing you for the much harsher world that is out there; a world in which certain strangers will blithely throw you under the bus.

Cousin was an athlete and remains as fit as ever. This is one of the embodied values I have in mind. If cousin comments on your habits, for example, you have to at least listen because you know there is some knowledge there that has been put to the test for decades. Thus emerges the hierarchy that holds you accountable.

The elders in an extended family are not necessarily the oldest people around. It is those who know what they are talking about and who exhibit it as part of their life. You become a hierarch organically by showing the requisite skill and responsibility. In practice, you are there when others want your advice. This will correlate with age, though age alone does not make you more prudent.

The extended family integrates friends and neighbours more easily. An individual cannot necessarily do that. For example, I am friendly, reliable, and talkative but I am also an introvert who tends to not contact anybody (though I am actively working on changing this). The integration continues naturally because, say, my friend may find others in my family with whom to be friends with and to do interesting things together.

As such friends and neighbours become de facto relatives and are treated as equals. There is a sense of togetherness and belonging, which builds solidity at the social level. I have experienced all of this before and am eager to contribute to it at the earliest opportunity. No matter the state of technology and how sophisticated we think we are, the ancient traditions remain ever-relevant.

I was able to build a house here, with material and financial help from locals and some people online. With my extended family around I would have the potential to build an entire civilisation.

This is a story-telling device that can be found in ancient and modern theories alike. Like a telenovela, the characters change but the plot is the same. Hesiod speaks of a lost Golden Age of man, the Bible tells us about the Garden of Eden, Hindus have the yuga cycles, Marxists describe the early humans as innately communist, nationalists take pride in their nation’s glorious past, pop culture fans will rave about how wonderful their favourite decade was, and so on.

At all times, the core descriptive statement is that we had something special that we lost. The prescriptive conclusion that sometimes follows is that we ought to regain what was once ours. I call this the “retrospective desire”. Its counterpart is the “prospective desire”, which is essentially expressed as a form of enthusiasm for the ever-moving future: a claim that things will naturally improve and all intermediate problems will eventually be sorted out. “Eventually” is the operative term in such an outlook, as it bases its faith on an indeterminate future that cannot be predicted with accuracy yet cannot be ruled out as a possible world either.

Both perspectives are correct in their own way in terms of describing what was and anticipating what may be, yet both can distract us from the present.

• The retrospective desire can make us feel powerless in the face of the prevailing conditions: how can we, as individuals or groups, cope with the challenges when even those who were in the original state of greatness, and thus superior to us, failed? This is a thought that forces us into inaction because it prefigures whatever immediate goal as futile.
• At the other end, we become complacent the moment we assume that there is an inexorable transition towards our betterment, however that is defined. The resulting inaction can make us sloppy and unprepared to benefit from what we expect to happen. This same complacency may in turn render us fragile in the face of various challenges.

A friend, who is a musician, once told me that you hear the base when it is not there anymore. The idea is that we recognise what we had only after it is gone. We otherwise take it for granted and, in so doing, underestimate it.

The person driven by the retrospective desire can fall in the trap of never enjoying what they have, for the past, literal or figurative, is always better and in a sense “real”, so there is no want to grow attached to what is available. Same for the other direction, as we can keep thinking about how better off we will become as soon as this newer thing or relationship becomes current, only then to daydream about the next iteration that promises to bring even more joy, and so on in what effectively are shifting sands that we cannot build anything on.

In both cases, we escape from the present to place our hope in something untainted—albeit not incorruptible—that exists elsewhere. A distant past, an alternative reality, a future history, some other plane of existence altogether, but never in the here-and-now. What we have is inherently undesirable, disposable, shallow, or anyhow not worthwhile compared to the putative truth that lies in that notional beyond that we believe in.

I am pragmatic, working with what I have. I draw from both perspectives, as I am neither a panegyrist of some glorious past nor a cheerleader for the blissful future to come. While I can reason about the decline and rise of a culture, I frame it in such a way as to inform present considerations, in line with practical reasonableness. For example, I appreciate face-to-face interactions and strong bonds, though I also recognise the utility of text-only exchanges. One does not preclude the other. What matters is to find a sustainable balance.

When we examine phenomena in our life, such as the pandemic of loneliness all around us, we can think of them as instances of imbalance: there is too much digital exposure and manufactured happiness, for example, and too little personal connection. Taking a retrospective view to claim something like “computers have destroyed us” would ignore all the gains we have had thanks to information technology, while the prospective view that “innovation will fix this too” downplays how it is technology that created the problem in the first place.

Media do not merely enable an experience: they condition it. Media cannot be neutral, as the conditioning is disposed a certain way. If I meet someone in person, the medium is the space where we are collocated. All the information that we communicate is informed by the space. Same principle for a chat application.

The question, then, is not one of abolishing the filters and of living without media, but of finding a configuration that is effective given certain values that we have. Knowing what the values are is key to both (i) be mindful of the objective and (ii) to avoid fetishising the medium.

If we think of technology as inherently harmful, for instance, we can only wonder where the limit is. Say we abolish computers and the Internet. Why stop there? Why not also get rid of beauty products as those too effectively put a mask on people? And why not do the same for equipment like basic tools, on the grounds that “real men” only rely on their own strength to get things done? Before we know it, we end up romanticising the average animal life. Only then we have to also accept the brutality of nature, which we tend to forget in such thoughts. Again, then, balance is the goal, not ideological purity.

The aforementioned plot underpins current debates about authenticity in the wake of Artificial Intelligence. You take the average message nowadays and you know it was written or at least retouched by AI. Salaried programmers are barely writing any code themselves. They still understand what is going on, more or less, though their grasp of the technicalities is rapidly diminishing, as the bots handle the implementation details (and increasingly every other part of the job). Same for the arts. It is thus easy to conclude that technical acumen both of the engineering and artisanal kinds is being eroded and, ipso facto, people are not as adept as they think: i.e. they are faking it.

It is thus tempting to conclude that a reversal would take us to a better place where people are real. Before AI, we can argue, engineers actually knew what they were doing and artists were truly masters of their craft. Except that we can find plenty of exceptions to qualify such insights as relative. Which year exactly should we go back to? Once we look there, we will find all sorts of other problems; problems that, by the by, AI can address. A reversal would, furthermore, imply that those supposedly authentic people of yore are more valuable qua authentic than whatever benefits this new world has in store for us. This is a claim that can, at the very least, be strongly contested if, say, AI helps us find a cure for cancer: how many would give up the remedy to have authenticity?

David Schmudde weighs in on this debate in an interview with Gareth King for the Ruined by the Internet? series: https://schmud.de/posts/2026-08-10-cowboy-clothes.html. The gist of David’s commentary is that authenticity is nuanced. It is not as simple as stating that the pre-AI days were about real people, as there was artificiality of varying degrees practically everywhere, from the boutique view of country music, to how people presented themselves online in flattering ways.

Indeed, if we commit to the valorisation of authenticity, there is no principled reason to stop at AI or digital media at-large. Does a person with a nice haircut fake it at some level? Do they not wake up with their hair all over the place? Are nice clothes fraudulent because they conceal the imperfections of one’s figure? Is an athlete’s achievement inauthentic owning to the use of specialised equipment, such as shoes? And how about the diet and training regimen one needs to follow to even be an athlete: are those fake in the sense that the average person does not live that way or that the athletic cause do not necessarily contribute to some real public good?

It helps us then to acknowledge what we are thinking when we make arguments for or against a state of affairs. We are making value judgements on the basis of some frame of reference. Those can even be unknown to us, as we have taken them for granted and never thought them through. Bringing them to our attention can make us identify our most realisable wants in the here-and-now, and thus potentially sort out the problems we have and for which we currently believe that solutions only exist in the “elsewhere” I covered above.

The Greeks cultivate tragedy because they accept the indeterminacy of the world we live in. There is no pure experience to be had. Whatever we get is in a state of admixture. If we invent technology to, say, keep us warm in the winter, we have also created the conditions of dying from suffocation, of burning alive, of starting wildfires, of polluting the environment which will then be harmful to us, of killing each other with more potent weapons, and so on. The wielding of fire, which is a metaphor for know-how and, by extension, technology, is neither good nor bad, both good and bad. We cannot have the nice parts without the ugly ones.

This state of admixture is true for our life as a whole, starting from the everyday things. To love someone, for example, means that you trust them, open your heart to them, at some point be in proximity to them, and thus expose yourself to the possibility of suffering immense pain from them. But you cannot both love and also not be exposed to that kind of risk.

What matters, then, is to apply judgement. To figure out where the balance is and how to subsist in moderation. When to be welcoming and when to be cautious. What to take and what to leave.

I treat YouTube as a video hosting platform: it is always online and does not charge me for the service. I know I am giving up other values in exchange. This is a pragmatic consideration on my part.

I record a video whenever I feel like it. I do it for any topic I like. I am not targeting a specific audience and am not optimising for what people think or expect (same for all my publications, by the way).

I am not motivated by Internet points, in the form of views, likes, comments, subscriptions… There is no analytics software running on my website and I do not have email subscriptions. My RSS feeds are configured to show the full contents of the article, so that readers do not even have to visit my website. I do not run advertisements and am not doing paid promotions. In short, I have no idea who reads what, unless they directly tell me about it.

I have nothing against people who use their website or YouTube channel to sell products, track clicks, show advertisements, and so on. For me, this is not a moral issue (and I do not consider myself “moral” or even “good” in the conventional sense). Rather, it is a question of creative freedom, which I value greatly.

I find that the pursuit of Internet points compromises your expressive potential. You have the powerful incentive to do some or all of the following:

• keep milking topics as much as possible, which diminishes the quality of each publication;
• employ clickbait techniques with misleading titles and thumbnails, among others;
• become a caricature of yourself, by saying things you do not really believe in just because of the expected virality/popularity they have;
• say what people want to hear, so you do not challenge them to apply judgement and to question what they otherwise take for granted.

What motivates me is to speak my mind in earnest. I do not want to dilute my message with distractions. To my mind, the pursuit of Internet points is one such distraction both when they are few and when they are plenty. In the former case, you feel disappointed in the results and become frustrated with your efforts. In the latter case, you inevitably indulge in ego boosting, which is the petty man’s drug.

Do not conflate popularity as such with vanity or shallowness though. I am referring to the pursuit of popularity as the primary objective, which is not the same thing as someone becoming known and respected for what they do. For example, in the free software space, Richard Stallman and Linus Torvalds are major figures because of their significant contributions, which will stay with us long-term.

All of the above apply in varying degrees to social media in general. Circa 2011 when I fist started my website, I created a Facebook page for it where I would post links to my articles. It was effectively an announcement board. I was getting a couple of “Like” reactions each time. I initially thought they were innocuous little extras. Until one day I wrote a long, fairly technical article that would require several minutes to read and perhaps a few more to think through. Within seconds of posting the link on the Facebook page, I got likes and positive comments along the lines of “good stuff!” and “keep it up!”. I deleted the Facebook page shortly thereafter because I understood how fake and shallow it was and how distracting it could become. It took me a few more years to completely abandon social media, including Twitter at the time, but the understanding was clear.

I do not count myself as a Youtuber because I recognise that Youtubering has its own logic; a logic that I defy. Even when people give me money, such as donations or for coaching, they understand that they are not buying my consent or, indeed, anything that would compromise my creativity.

If you want to succeed as a YouTuber, you do what is necessary. This is a business approach, which is ultimately governed by the balance sheet. And if you want to be maximally creative, you just do what you enjoy. If there happens to be an audience for your musings, that is a happy albeit irrelevant coincidence—and is a distraction if you let it influence your decisions.

Memorable and teachable

Any narrative that contributes to such a framework has to have mnemonic and didactic value. Stories that are hard to remember cannot spread through word of mouth and shall not be easily communicated to people. This is a major problem for intergenerational relations, because the parent will not be teaching the child as much as they could. Same principle for stories that do not contain lessons that are widely applicable: people will not find those stories useful and will eventually ignore them.

This approach emphasises the role of the tutelary figure: the teacher, the scholar, the priest, the hierarch, the shaman, always depending on the specifics of the culture in question. This person performs the vital function of harmonising the private good with the common good in what we may generalise as the wellness of the place with the wellness of the space. The tutelary figure is the person that uses religion as a system for their teachings, adapting insights to the particularities of present life as well as the individual qualities of each member of the social whole they are addressing.

A myth, for example, is not an event that actually happened. It is not a statement of fact in and of itself. The tutelary figure, owning to their experience, can discern the meaning of the myth, the moral of the story, to comment on quotidian affairs, such as to give personalised guidance on one’s struggles in life. Through this tutelage, the lesson drawn from the myth becomes relatable because it applies to immediately recognisable phenomena.

Facts and their constraints

Facts, then, are interesting details that can reinforce the effect of narratives. Though the totality of religion cannot be factual, as that necessarily means that religion must be filled with accompanying data sets or relevant resources: those are not mnemonic, for instance.

Facts may render stories specific to their context: if a story is tied to the given details of the place and people involved, then it may not be as generalisable. A story about an artisan’s craft in ancient China, for instance, might not apply to a modern European if it is all about details of that field of endeavour during that specific era. The generalisation will have to be done beyond those specificities.

Data sets about such details are no mere supporting material though. They are an integral part of a wider approach to how things are handled. Consider a scientific paper, for example: in principle, it is all about facts. The paper’s data has to be verifiable by independent means and its findings shall be reproducible elsewhere. Without verifiability and reproducibility, there are no facts that can be relied upon. They are, at best, curious artefacts potentially worthy of further investigation.

Imagine that if religion is factual, it too has to be consistent with the practice that frames the scientific paper, meaning that each of its claims is substantiated by details which themselves are peer-reviewed and thoroughly examined in independent settings. And those facts have to be applicable today as well as for the indeterminate future, so their reproducibility remains robust to changes in the environment.

I am not aware of any religion that is purely factual of the sort here considered. Religions claim to be factual on some accounts and admit to their allegorical nature on others. Though once this point is granted, then one can only wonder where exactly the boundaries are set and whether the goalposts will keep shifting if expedient.

From facts to ideology

My claim that religion is fundamentally allegorical is not to discount religion, but to salvage it because it is a potent tool for social cohesion. I wish to carve for religion a place that keeps it relevant long-term, given the obvious descriptive power and potential for innovation that science, its putative competitor, has. To me, religion and science apply to different facets of life and are thus compatible once each focuses on its strengths.

This approach also saves science from the trap of scientism, namely, the ideology of fastening upon the scientific corpus cultural teachings that themselves cannot be strictly aligned with the scientific method because they then lose their mnemonic and didactic value.

A defining feature of our era is said scientism. People try to find all-encompassing guidance for their daily life in tenuous factoids of the sort “a paper found such and such”, “scientists may have found how this and that are related”. People rush to use those preliminary findings as the basis for far-reaching claims that the data does not support. They do not even know how to treat the source material with the requisite scepticism.

It is common for those under the sway of scientism to rely on an implicit metaphysics while pretending to eschew metaphysics altogether, thinking they are practical and believing they are smart by avoiding “all that nonsense”. As a result, the average person overestimates their competence and ventures to do things that are potentially self-destructive.

Scientism debases both science and culture because it stands at an awkward intermediate state between the two, combining their parts in the worst possible way.

I want to help people find focus in their life instead of getting pulled in to futile squabbles over science versus religion, my religion versus your religion, and so on. I see myself as the figure who has responsibility to inspire—and at times to challenge—people to aim for a state of clarity, instead of giving them grist for the mill they are caught in. I am not converting anyone to anything: they will know what to do once they put things in order.

Against this backdrop, I extend what I have written thus far with commentary on the article titled On becoming a magus from the Under The Juniper Tree blog (hereinafter referred to as “the blog” in the interest of brevity). It gives me the pretext to expound on what I was anyway going to cover. Using excerpts from the blog makes my points more relatable, so I do not need to draw my own examples: I can rely instead on what another person states since it is representative of broader patterns of thought that I have encountered.

Metaphor and symbolism

From the blog:

The magician, in the tarot world, is represented as someone in robes (Jesuschrist) able to control the four elements: air (swords), fire (wands), earth (pentacles) and water (coups). He is shown displaying these things in a table, in calmness.

Tomberg is his Meditations on the Tarot, expounds about this topic and how occultist like Eliphas Levi said that Jesuschrist was the ultimate magician and that the rest of us mortal wouldn’t ever be more than warlocks.

Should we take this literally? Are the four elements a statement of fact? What does that entail for chemistry? Can I describe the desk and computer hardware I am now using in terms of the four elements and have this be a reproducible description? Can I, for example, have a precise measurement of the earth and wind present in my keyboard?

I think the four elements are metaphorical as a simplification of a much more complex reality. Using this metaphor, I can come up with lots of interesting stories about the world which may make people think about different parts of their everyday life. I like the four elements in that regard. If, however, I take the four elements literally, then I carry the burden of proof to demonstrate exactly what those elements mean, how do we study them, where do we use them, and so on.

Same principle for Jesus as the ultimate magician. If this is a statement of fact, then we have to contend with all sorts of questions that essentially ask how can we prove that any given person actually is who they claim to be (e.g. son of God, the trinity, etc.).

If Jesus is the ultimate magician who is, ipso facto, superior to all of us, then it is entirely possible that he is a pretender and not the real deal, without us ever knowing how to tell the difference. I do not actually believe this, but such is the possibility we have to entertain. A pretender could even be malevolent, such as to cause confusion, sow hatred, trigger holy wars, and sit back to see the world burn.

How would we, the lesser people, even have the acumen to correctly rank the magicians, so that we can tell who is the ultimate among them? And which even are the criteria for said ranking? Even in something as mundane as football, it is futile to define the “Greatest Of All Time”, “the best midfielder ever”, and so on. If you do not believe me, start a poll online and you will get all sorts of conflicting accounts. Who is right, who is wrong, and how do we make that judgement call? And this is just football, mind you, not “the ultimate magician”.

These and many more are questions that naturally follow from the basic notion that Jesus qua ultimate magician is a fact. We cannot hold back those questions because then we are no longer rigorous with our claims.

If, however, we take this metaphorically we again have lots of interesting topics to discuss about common issues, while recognising that we are formulating stories that fit our needs. Jesus as the ultimate magician thus becomes a valuable story-telling device for the present and the future.

When we admit that we are reading resources in a spirit of openness to interpretation, we remind people not to obsess over the specifics of what is in front of them. We emphasise the teachings and invite everyone to think for themselves or, anyhow, to not take every statement or symbol at face value.

Furthermore, we adapt the lessons to the prevailing realities. Interpretation becomes a tool that empowers us. We are not limited to the scope that the facts delimit.

Continuing from the blog:

I am a firm believer of the phenomenology of magick; as a christian it couldn’t be otherwise; Solomon had control over demons (or djinns), Elijah called fire upon the prophets of Baal, and my dear St. Theresa D’Avila levitated and mastered the inner self out of abandonment and trust; centuries of grimmoires have been preserved to this day, like the Lesser and the Greater Key of Solomon, the entire tradition of the Ars Goetia and the book of Honorius to talk with God amongst other tests.

Consider the story of Elijah here. If God literally rained fire on those who practised a different religion, why can we not believe that this is also happening nowadays in roughly the same part of the world for basically the same reasons? And if we cannot think of the modern day equivalent of Elijah, perhaps we will surmise that God skipped the prophets and opted for politicians this time? There are countless such questions, each with far-reaching implications.

Furthermore, if this is a literal event, then it raises questions about God, such as whether he has favourites among the people and why would that be, that he seems to have no problem with innocent children burning alive and their settlements reduced to rubble, and much more. Is fire the best way to convince people?

Plus everything I mentioned above about validating the claimed facts.

I am not searching for answers here. I am pointing out what happens once you commit to a literal reading of the stories.

If, however, we take it metaphorically then we have a useful story in our hands: for instance, we can speak about how one’s unflinching commitment makes them extraordinary, which is a practical lesson for everybody.

Same idea for St. Theresa levitating. What does that even mean in a factual reading of the story? Was she suspending the force of gravity? And if so, what was holding her body together? Was it some piece of equipment instead? Who developed it and what was the underlying technology? We can ask endless such questions and continue scrutinising the answers as we search for verifiable and reproducible evidence. Absent the evidence, the only charitable reading is that of allegory. Otherwise, we have to admit that we do not know the facts and are filling in the blanks with what we wish to see there.

If we say that this is all magic that we simply cannot comprehend, then we are faced with the challenge of putting forth a description about—and attendant belief in—something we claim is indescribable. If it can be talked about, it is describable. If it can be described, it can be done so with greater accuracy. If, moreover, it can be demonstrated, then it can be measured. So we are back to examining facts and building up the requisite capacity. And if it is not demonstrable, then the supposed events are allegorical, which is perfectly fine.

Symbols and practicality

From the blog:

I consider that everything is real when it comes to this kind of topics: I do not deny the existence of Hera, but her condition; for me it’s just a fallen angel or a nephilim instead of a goddes, and the same goes with the gods of my ancestors - Baal is just a minor nephilim, or son of the angels that left the sky.

What does “real” mean though? Metaphors are also real because they describe that which is common in phenomena. But we understand that the metaphor itself is not factual: its relation to reality consists in representing the abstraction from the multitude of relevant patterns.

For example, Aesop’s fable of the ant and the grasshopper pertains to everyday experiences of people even though we are neither ants nor grasshoppers. Aesop did not record a historical event but only a story he made up; a story with mnemonic and didactic value.

If, however, we claim something like “Hera is real” and by that we mean that she is a figure of some kind, be it an angel or whatever, then we again need to withstand the scrutiny of fact-checking. This would distract from the symbolism. It would be akin to saying “the story of the ant and the grasshopper actually happened”.

Hera is not a person. There is no lady in the sky waiting for us to do something for her. Hera is a symbol that we invent—and are open about our myth-making practice and our poetry—to encapsulate in a few words (again, mnemonic and didactic value) a long list of beliefs that a society may consider important because it has tested them through aeons of experimentation, such as:

• Children need a mother figure in their midst.
• Families benefit from having a just matriarch figure around (e.g. the grandmother in an extended family that everybody loves and listens to).
• The extended family distributes the workload, making it easier to raise children and take care of the elderly, while still handling everyday work.
• Societies are stable long-term when social reproduction (biological + cultural continuity) extends from the family, to the neighbourhood, and continues outward.
• Resilience long-term is about sustainable intergenerational relations.

We do not have to appeal to Hera to make those and related points. A secular teaching at some public school can have the same effect. However, history shows us that religious communities are the most enduring across continents. So, communicating this in religious terms will likely remain relevant long-term.

At any rate, Hera is a symbol: a name or alias for a long list of beliefs which themselves are about day-to-day issues. Anything else is going to engender countless questions like I hinted at in the previous section.

Names/aliases/symbols are part of our everyday affairs. Imagine if instead of “Protesilaos” we have to use all possible descriptors of me: that would make for an incredibly tedious discussion. Extend that to everything we name and you quickly realise how language will not be usable if it cannot employ these mental shortcuts.

We rely on names/aliases/symbols to keep things focused. At some level, we accept imprecision for the sake of usability. Strictly speaking, “Protesilaos” is inaccurate because it applies equally to a child and to an adult, even though those are different people in terms of their body, their interests, their knowledge, and more. Same idea for “Protesilaos” from yesterday and “Protesilaos” right now because there still are differences between them that the name itself does not capture. For example, yesterday’s guy had not written this article and thus had not created the relevant synapses in his brain.

Coming back to religion, metaphors empower us to keep things focused by avoiding unnecessary details. Otherwise, we exhaust the attention span of people and, as such, we cannot instil in them what they need to learn (again, mnemonic and didactic value).

Furthermore, saying that Hera is real, in the sense of a person or angel or whatever, we now introduce a discussion about otherworldly forms of being. This discussion is factual or metaphorical? If it is factual, then we have to have the relevant evidence. If it is an allegory, then we have to question what purpose does it serve and whether that is constructive or not in light of social affairs.

The significance of faith

From the blog:

For the magi not only needs discipline and knowledge, but also trust and faith, faith in something greater than himself, faith in a world that can’t be reduced to debt and GPI and politics, faith in the fact that, as Borges said, there are more things.

Indeed, there are more things. Such as other people in present time and other people on an intergenerational scale. There is the country and the environment, and all of the species, and so on. Recognising the others is a prerequisite for the aforementioned framework of sustainability.

The defining feature of our era is that “more things” are subordinated to the practice of ruthless short-term profit maximisation and its concomitant pursuit of perpetual growth, which is how forests are decimated and oceans are polluted, people are uprooted from their ancestral lands through structural poverty or brute force or the sabotage of drugs, waters are exploited in the interest of oligarchs, and so on.

Faith in other things needs to be couched in terms of the practicalities of sustainability within the confines of the world we live in. It is not about other beings in other dimensions. Faith in other people, for example, brings forth concerns for justice. Faith in generations embeds a sense of duty and of restraint beyond one’s self. This continues for other topics, but the core idea is the same: it is about recognising that we are not alone here and that we have to keep things orderly for the present and the indeterminate future. Sanctity, then, is a shorthand for saying at minimum: respect the person, respect the community, respect those who were before and those who will come after, respect the environment, live within your means. Et cetera.

Faith in Hera as a given figure, however, or the nephilim, or whether Elijah actually wielded fire, or if Jesus qua ultimate magician is literal and he actually controls the four elements, inevitably invites the kind of endless scepticism that disorients us from the goal of sustainability for our communities. Instead of taking the symbolism and adapting it to our life, to teach young and old folks alike, we run into controversies about the one and only truth; controversies that humanity has never resolved—and how could it when it cannot even define the best footballer ever? And, no, I am not joking.

None of this is limited to religion, by the way. It is how the curious and persistent intellectual shifts their attention away from the practicalities of daily life into questioning every possible detail they are aware of. Overthinking is guaranteed to happen if you are strict about “the truth”, because you need to be rigorous throughout and to apply the highest possible standard in your scrutiny. Overthinking is not a viable path because our body prevents us from withdrawing into a world of pure thought until we can figure out everything: the body demands action, so we accept our condition as embodied mind.

A sustainable option for the uncompromising thinker is to learn how to thrive in liminality: to live between fact and fiction, to study the data while also discerning in it abstract structure, with one foot in the world of practicality and another in the world of thought.

Those granted, faith performs the vital function of keeping people involved and committed to the collective good. This is what religion can do best. The average believer is not questioning their precepts: those are not negotiable for the very practical reason that the person who is not ready to think things through will make a mess out of their own life, just how the person under the sway of scientism does. The precepts are there to give people support on all those issues where they need it.

And here, too, the typical modern person errs because they conflate the freedom of opinion with the capacity to live with the consequences of one’s thoughts/deeds. Everybody can speak their mind, but few will actually commit to the unflinching pursuit of their thoughts and live accordingly. Fewer still will do it even if it involves great personal cost, like in the cases of Socrates and Baruch Spinoza.

An empty shirt

When we make a literal reading of symbols and names, we end up in a situation where we have insufficient evidence to support our claims. It is why such an approach tends to beget fanaticism, which escalates into coercion, as it lacks the means of persuasion through reason.

The 20th century Greek poet Giorgos Seferis alludes to pointless squabbles and campaigns in his poem Ελένη (Helen), which concludes with why would people do all this warfare and constant struggle:

για ένα πουκάμισο αδειανό για μιαν Ελένη

[for an empty shirt for a Helen]

“Helen” here is a reference to Helen of Troy. She is the stated reason for the Trojan War. Helen is not an actual person. She is a symbol, a metaphor, an artistic device to communicate something deeper. In Helen we find the recklessness of people, for example: people who kill each other over unattainable trophies.

Helen is a myth, which remains ever-relevant. There is such a Helen right now in the Middle East, where the United States is waging a war on Iran over unclear goals and with no coherent strategy. A Helen exists in Eastern Europe for similar reasons, for the Russians, the Ukrainians, and those in the European Union.

In the context of religiosity, Helen as the empty shirt is what we get when we lose sight of the teachings and insist on the reality of the names or stated claims. This is not mere distraction though. It is far more pernicious, as it begets the kind of fanaticism that says “my god is more real than your practices” and then brings fire and steel on them. It is the same fanaticism that in many parts of the world continues to haunt those who believe in something different; the fanaticism that makes the perpetrators feel righteous and justified about all the atrocities they commit.

We do not get such phenomena in discussions that stick to the facts or in those conversations which at the outset admit to their allegorical character. Where we find unreasonableness is when symbols are taken literally. This happens with religion, though it also happens with sport when our team’s colours become our identity that pits us against all other supporters via hooliganism, or in art when we wage culture wars over whether the Helen character in Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey movie can be a black woman or not (again, Helen is fiction, not an actual Greek woman of antiquity). These are all empty shirts, which nevertheless have the potential to lead to actual harm.

The intellectual’s responsibility is to stay focused on the essence, avoid empty shirts, and communicate with others dispassionately so that they also focus on what is the deeper issue.

A matter of initiative

With those granted, we are left with how I originally concluded my previous article about the way of the wizard (2026-08-03):

Perhaps, then, the safest option is become a wizard yourself.

The wizard I have in mind is the philosopher (literally “friend of wisdom”) who learns to deal with that which is liminal; the person who goes beyond the apparent tension between fact and fiction, religion and science.

The point here is not to demand personal accountability for systemic phenomena as that would be unfair, but to suggest that those who are concerned about what is happening around them have to start from somewhere.

If we see the world that envelops us erode before our eyes and if we believe that we have the means to do something, then we act to the best of our abilities with the hope that others will be inspired to do the same. In the process, we recognise that there may be compromises along the way and that efforts will have to continue over the long-term.

This is how I approach it for my immediate environment: I have no material resources to donate and no army of volunteers to mobilise. I am just a dude with a blog living in a remote mountainous region. I have ideas that I am sharing without strings attached. Fundamentally, I remind people to not take themselves too seriously because that is how they self-destruct or destroy others.

Maybe those combined with my admittedly limited efforts to make connections and maintain a semblance of community can amount to something. Though there is a chance that they will not achieve anything because I simply am not the right person for this sort of initiative. I cannot know unless I try in earnest. Since there is nobody else I know who is leading by example, I will do my part and see what happens.

It is my style to not make promises or talk big: I do what I have thought through very carefully, live with the consequences of my actions without regrets, and then I comment at length on what I have learnt.

UPDATE 2026-08-11 12:52 +0300: There is a follow-up article on the Under The Juniper Tree blog titled Seeker of the ancient beauty.

I do not have anything to add that is not already foreshadowed above, so I will only comment on the questions, which are contained in this quote:

So, the question is, without the technical scaffolding, if there is something we can do about a sky that feels empty but maybe isn’t, because we’ve forgotten how to be embraced by it.

[…]

I am asking you, sincerely, if you could help me understand why I feel like I do not have anymore what it takes to find that dearest beauty, so ancient yet so new, that rests within us.

My point comes down to saying that our fundamental issue as individuals and then as groups is that we have abstracted away the divine into something that exists elsewhere; “elsewhere” as in far away but also “elsewhere” as in some distant epoch that is not current anymore.

We find what we are always searching for when (i) we slow down to escape from the grindset of our times, (ii) start paying attention to our world around us, and (iii) join like-minded people to actively contribute to the culture we want.

We learn to respect our neighbours and extended communities. Not in the common sense of “I respect your opinion”, but in the deeper sense of valuing their innate humanity, expressing solidarity, and doing things in a way that is benign long-term (e.g. for the next generation to have a land with strong cultural ties to live on).

We respect our homeland because it is the space where our ancestors thrived materially as well as spiritually, plus it gives us the space for our own institutions/values to exist. This, too, is a deeper kind of appreciation than what is common nowadays, where “country” is an alias for property for sale and/or theme park for tourists.

God does not need our validation because god is complete. We are the ones who need spirituality and the relevant framework. By focusing on what we have to do, which in short is to seek/build/join the appropriate communities, I try to suggest that even in a situation that looks extra bad, there is still hope: we can change it, but we have to collectively try in earnest.

Putting the emphasis on the small scale is also an implicit political comment of mine. It is like saying “the big institutions do not exist on their own if the people do not get involved”. This applies to secular institutions like the government as well as spiritual ones. The Catholic Church, for example, is powerful on paper because it has billions of followers, yet capitalism shows that it is more influential in everyday life because, fundamentally, people have a nominal commitment to their faith and an actual commitment to the capitalist way of life.

This is not to suggest that the big institutions are useless, mind you: only to stress the importance of people having to do their part in the process.

I do not want to be performing sex rituals to summon demons á la Epstein, but I want to feel that not everything can be reduced to pure opportunity costs and ROI, that there is something beyond productivity and FOMO and anxiety-driven conduct patterns.

There is that “something” all around us, though we are not conditioned to notice it. The reason is that we get used to our quotidian routines, driven by the necessities of life. There is work and the preparation for work. Then there is the attendant competition for social standing, which improves the chances for work and for all its contributing factors. Thus arise feelings of ownership, jealousy, and so on. When we do not actively exchange goods, we trade in perceptions, and when those transactions break down we resort to violence to invigorate anew this cycle of work, goods, perceptions.

The cosmic continuum through pop culture hyperbole

From what I know, the magus is the high priest of Zoroastrian Iran, who was steeped in the study of the world as a continuum of science, mythology or art, and religiosity. Same principle for the Greek mystic, literally the one who goes through initiation (i.e. rigorous training of matters of deep knowledge (mysteries)) to become a hierophant (he who reveals that which is sacred). And same for the wizard, the wise person who is believed to possess supernatural powers owning to this same rare capacity of understanding the human condition and everything around it in a manner that is holistic.

I will be referring to this archetype as the “wizard”, though “magus” and “hierophant” are all interchangeable here. Note, further, that I am considering the one who is excellent, which excludes the average hierarch (“hierarchy” literally means the holy order/rule, so the “hierarch” is somebody who is high up on this order and, more generally, someone who holds a position of authority, hence the common use of “hierarchy”).

The pop culture view of the wizard is of a person, typically a man, who does things that are not available to normal folk. In many video games, for example, the wizard class has very little strength but can still dominate through the use of powerful spells. Give the wizard enough time and he will destroy an army of elite warriors. And even if the wizard is strong physically, their real strength is in their reality-altering mind.

This is all metaphor and hyperbole. Though it is rooted in fact. The wizard does indeed possess powers that the average person lacks. The wizard sees patterns that the average person has not even noticed and will find connections that are seemingly not there. But once the wizard explains those findings, they not only make sense, they are so obviously “there” that the average person will not even realise they are talking to a wizard: they think they are conversing with a normal fellow and so they will not even be aware that their reality has been changed by the wizard’s doing.

It is common to say that we are all under the influence of some long-dead intellectual. This too points to the same direction of how mind alters reality. Once you learn something, you see things accordingly. And so when the wizard “casts the spell”, which is a metaphor for saying that the wizard has made you aware of something, your world is no longer the same it was before.

When Kong Zi (Confucius), a sage in his own right, talked about Lao Zi, such was his impression of the man that he thought he had witnessed a dragon, i.e. a mythical creature. Lao Zi was a human like everybody else, yet his capacity to think things through was so extraordinary that he was, in a manner of speaking, superhuman: he was nothing like what you see every day.

So we take both the exaggeration as well as the underlying fact it is trying to highlight.

The global context

The wizard understands multiplicity on the continuum of oneness. This already sounds like gibberish. How can “multiplicity” also be “oneness”? If it is many, then it cannot possibly be one, right? The answer is that there always are many and one: all the particulars have something in common, like all the dogs you have met share the common nature of dog as such. Both dogs and dog are present. Where others can name only discreet presences, the wizard discerns the common in the multitude, going from the most concrete to the most abstract.

Why does this matter though and how does that make someone a “wizard” in the pop culture sense? It matters because it changes the frame of reference for any given thought. The wizard knows that how we frame things conditions what we discover in them: it foreshadows what is to come. Furthermore, the wizard understands that connections between otherwise disparate fields of endeavour become apparent once we couch them in terms of a context that encompasses all of them.

The wizard’s context is the global context, so the possibility of finding connections extends far beyond anything the average person can comprehend in their current state. To the wizard’s mind, this does not create any confusion whatsoever, as the wizard can tell how presences are at once different and the same. It is a matter of what needs to be emphasised, which the wizard is well aware of.

[ Also read: On the absolute other (2026-08-02). ]

Situational awareness

In practice, stupid people are not those who lack intelligence, but those who do not have structure in their life. They disperse their energy and end up running around like headless chickens, always stressed, always unprepared, always a few steps behind. Incredibly smart people can be stupid in this regard.

Having structure is beneficial to everyone. This consists of routines, hobbies, responsibilities. Basically, the arrangements that reduce or eliminate indecision: we do whatever we are supposed to do without thinking about it and getting distracted in the process.

Both the average person and the wizard benefit from having structure in their life. There is, however, one important detail that distinguishes the two. The average person faithfully applies the rules without thinking about the particularities of the case: “this is what the rule says, so this is what I do” is their approach.

Whereas the wizard is mindful and thus in tune with the particularities of the case. If there is a need to introduce an exception, the wizard will notice it and suspend the application of the rules. Not because the rules are not useful in general, but because committing to them independent of the specifics can lead to adverse results.

We may simply state that it is smart to have structure but it is stupid to apply it without judgement. Such judicious thinking is possible thanks to the appreciation of context in general.

The art of control

The wizard’s power consists in knowing when to suspend the rules. There is no one-size-fits-all kind of answer here, no specific formula that we can rely on independent of what is happening. It always depends. The wizard, then, knows when to make an exception, in what will seem like a completely arbitrary decision to the untrained person. This is because their context does not factor in all the considerations that the wizard has accounted for.

Since I mentioned rules, allow me another example, though the point is general. In the law, the wizard recognises spirit. Not as a figure of speech, but as an inherent reality: that which is present even as the circumstances change, else that which transcends the constitution of the case. Phrasing it this way shows why “spirit” is the correct term. By extension, there is “spirit” in everything.

As such, the wizard is able to find the truth through the specifics yet beyond the specifics. It is truth in interpretation, else in situational awareness. It cannot be limited to the letter of the statement as such or the given phenomenon in isolation. Again, context.

Because of this bigger picture view of the world, the wizard remains in control of the situation and is accordingly calm. Theirs is an awareness of the structure by which phenomena unfold.

The wizard is confident in their capacity to operate in the world. Like the physicist who does not need to continuously observe each specific object to know how a given action will produce motion through reactions given initial conditions, the wizard skips past the details to anticipate that which has not been made manifest and to fathom what may be.

The wizard has thus experienced far more than what their age or specifics of daily life would otherwise permit. This is not knowledge that is measured in quantity, as in how many books one can quote. It is mastery of conduct. When, for example, we witness an elite musician play music, we know that there is depth there but we also understand that to us non-elite-musicians the exact depth is unknown: it simply gets dark after a certain point.

The shifting sands do not bewilder the one who is in tune with shifting as such. Put differently, the wizard is not distracted and will not go down paths that lead to undesired destinations.

Notice, again, how all this makes the pop culture view of the wizard more realistic than it would otherwise seem.

Summoning daemons

Which brings me to the quote I have above from the Under The Juniper Tree blog. Gods, daemons, spirits, or whatever you want to name them, do not answer calls. They do not hang out there waiting for us to show appreciation for them.

You know by now that the many and the one are not in contradiction, so “gods” and “god” are interchangeable.

God is immanent: here, there, everywhere. When you perform a ritual, supposedly to summon a god/daemon/spirit, you actually do it to focus on a task. You force yourself to slow down. In the process, you begin to get out of the tunnel you otherwise are in. The tunnel effect occurs naturally as you speed up: the pace of your life forces you to perceive only a tiny part of totality and, furthermore, makes you not appreciate how close you are to what you think is far away.

[ Also read: On the importance of rituals (2026-07-27). ]

The summoning that happens at a ritual is about your concentration. By slowing down and focusing, you begin to practice the skill of calling upon your own powers, collecting all that energy and channelling it in a focused way. God, then, is revealed to you not because god moved to where you are: you effectively put on your glasses to read the text that is in front of you.

Epstein and friends (calling it “Epstein+” here for brevity) were/are not summoning evil daemons in what is some one-off event at a specific altar: they have already focused their energy in such a way that their entire life has qualities that we can simply describe as “satanic”. When Epstein+ is trafficking people, he is already satanic, when Epstein+ is throwing everybody under the bus for profit he is satanic throughout, and so on.

The story is the same for what we typically think of hell, of the self-inflicted pain of Sisyphus, the tormenting greed of Tantalus, the lack of judgement of Procrustes, et cetera. The “afterlife” is a useful metaphor, though we have to understand its actual application: it refers to the life that occurs here-and-now as well as the life that happens right after any give act, else the consequences of one’s actions.

If, for example, someone is gambling, the “afterlife” is the new normal when they are finally broke, have committed domestic violence, and so on. It is the inescapable reality of the broken relationships and of the insatiable passion that eats away not only at the family fortune but also the lives of those involved. Extend this principle to all sins and you immediately realise how it is all about this life, not what happens after you die in some other dimension.

And the same for “summoning” the benign spirits, what the Greeks call “eudaemonia”, literally “good-spirit-ness”, which is clumsily translated as “happiness”. You are not actually summoning anything from another reality: you are channelling your energy in such a way that your life acquires certain qualities. And if you are consistent, then those qualities underpin your new normal. Think again about how I used “spirit” above. It is the same here: how you live has a “spirit” beyond the day-to-day details, so we can metaphorically speak of a good daemon that is taking care of you or has become you.

This is also why the concept of the exalted human makes sense. Whether we call this “apotheosis” (reaching towards godhood), “theanthopos” (god-man), “prophet”, or “dragon”, as I mentioned earlier, is not essential to my point here: what they have is rare and, of course, there are levels to it.

Immanent pattern

In conclusion, as you slow down, you begin to realise that there is pattern throughout and that all presences are the same qua patterns. This we know even from basic observations. Black and white are opposites, in a manner of thinking. Yet they also are the same once understood as points on the spectrum of tonality. The wizard works with colours and colour as such. Me and you, we are different if we account for all the variables that describe a person, but we are also the same once we think that a human is equal to another human.

It is thus that we are inspired to observe the world all around us. Everywhere we look, we trace pattern and we realise that there cannot be anything beside pattern as such. It is pattern of pattern of pattern. Whatever then we understand as distinct from the totality of known patterns is a manner of thinking about pattern as such (and thinking is also pattern): it is thought of as distinct in the same way it can be thought of in relation to another pattern.

The wizard comprehends this insight and embeds it as daily practice. If even the multiplicity of the multitude is subject to how we think, then we can think differently for everything. What superficially is the same case becomes a different case altogether once perceived from a new perspective. There is no case without scope, without the perspective that factors in certain things while leaving out others. What remains, then, is the power of reconstitution: thinking anew, else pattern reconfigured into pattern where configuration is itself pattern.

This is all sounding like pop culture magic, right? It is, though we have to distinguish these natural abilities, which are practical throughout, from poetic effect.

[ Also read: Beyond the temple (2026-07-27). ]

The wizard will not teleport to places, for example: this is a metaphor for saying that the wizard has understood things the way someone does once they live long enough in a certain place.

The wizard does not produce fireballs out of thin air: this, too, is a metaphor for the aforementioned reconfiguration, where we take something out there and turn it into something else in what is an exercise of empowerment.

And so, the wizard does not talk to god in the literal sense but only as a metaphor for describing how the wizard identifies spirit and then the spirit among the spirits and how, thus, the wizard employs those insight in pursuit of something practical.

There will always be pretenders. Those who claim to know more than they do, those who, in other words, will promise you fabulous stuff. And you will either believe everyone and suffer the consequences or you will not believe any of them, which means that you will live without the “magic” I covered herein (and, again, there are levels to it).

Perhaps, then, the safest option is become a wizard yourself.

UPDATE 2026-08-03 21:46 +0300: “Gyro” has a follow-up On the nature of magick, which correctly points out that you cannot be a wizard as an individual and that there has to be a community in place.

How are we going to become mages if there is no magick, if the spirits of the land are dead, our God silent and our traditions and heritage forgotten? What is a mage going to do in an age empty of saints?

Is it a way for us to rebuild our communities? To get back our traditions? To be part of something unfathomably bigger than ourselves?

Indeed the wizard cannot exist on their own. As with the ancient priests, they are all members of a society that embeds in its culture certain values which then create the hierarchs and among those a wizard emerges of the sort I outlined above. Without the community, which is ethnic in its constitution as it exists across generations, there are no wizards.

To become a wizard, then, as I concluded with my original article, one needs to turn their attention to the immediate task of finding the community. Not all hope is lost. There are people out there who still care. There also are those who are somewhat interested but would not do the first step.

Courage is contagious. Once a few people make the initiative, others become more curious and want to check out what is going on. Many will come and go, but a few will stay. Eventually this can create the momentum that enkindles the community. It will be a lot of work though, because it has to be done as a counter-cultural movement that resists all sorts of forces from the dominant culture.

I am only now beginning to commit to this enkindling and I generally do not want to talk big before I do anything. I shall do it and then I can comment on it. My goal is to find the others, message them, meet with them, keep them active, and continue doing my part. My hope is that long-term this brings back the magic, even if it is one tiny bit at a time.

Is there a specific plan of action that will guarantee results? I do not have the answers. I am experimenting and will know more once I have enough experience.

Still, I do something very well that few people learn and fewer still master: I slow things down, understand my surroundings, and am in control of the situation. I have the capacity for situational awareness that allows me to discern patterns and thus connections which are otherwise obscure even though they are always present in plain sight. This is not a matter of intelligence but of attitude.

This is because I have learnt through observation that perception is a function of speed. The faster our pace in life, the narrower our field of view, the fewer the details we can capture, the more superficial the reality we will be experiencing.

Speed is not even a metaphor here. I mean it literally, though an analogy helps communicate the point: while standing, you have a wide field of view, but as you pick up pace the field of view becomes increasingly narrow until its boundaries converge at a singular point. Speed creates a tunnelling effect. If you go fast, you are thus not seeing—literally “not seeing”—what is around you.

Life is high-paced when it does not allow for moments of mindfulness. In the present era, this usually happens when we work under the pressure to deliver results, log each second of the effort we put in, capture every datum that empowers our employer to assess our productivity, and do everything else beside our profession, including relationships and recreational activities, as if it is a task on a rigid timeline.

A life of high pace is a life of disturbance. There is an elusive void within and we do not know what is the cause of it. It will manifest as anxiety or some low intensity sadness or numbness and apathy. It may be expressed as disturbance that bursts into wanton violence or, simply, anti-social abrasiveness. This is the life of the person who, like a wolf in captivity, is denied of their open vistas, of the wide field of view that allows each one to stay calm.

In narrowness there is fear. It runs counter to our constitution and thus triggers in us the feeling of estrangement or disconnect from our roots. We are not meant to be super fast at all times. In going full speed we depart from our baseline and in making that our default we operate beyond the boundaries of the sustainable, hence the disturbance and the fear of that which remains undetectable.

The slow pace is how we regain control of the situation and effectively open our conscience to the world that envelops us. Any action that forces us to reduce our speed is benign. When done with intent, this will typically be embedded as a ritual. For example, if we spend 5 minutes praying before each meal, those are 5 minutes that we have forced ourselves to be patient: what the prayer itself says is irrelevant to the detunnelling effect that is unfolding.

Rituals with a spiritual significance have the advantage of establishing in our conscience the notion of necessity. If we think that we can always skip them, then we introduce cheat days and eventually come up with all sorts of exceptions that turn into excuses for not committing to the ritual at all. Whereas when the ritual is expressed as a matter of spirituality, it becomes non-negotiable. Only absolute necessity stops you from carrying out what you believe in.

To the disciplined person, such as myself, rituals and the overall structure for daily life come from within. I personally do not need anybody to force me to slow down. I am always patient and undisturbed because my own rules are sacrosanct: I do not have off days in how I apply them. To everybody else though, religiosity is the best way to make rituals, and thus detunnelling, happen with regularity. Within a religious setting, you have fellow practitioners that all commit to observing the rituals without taking shortcuts. And, if you believe in the divine, you also recognise that a higher power is involved.

God is everywhere, but to the person with the tunnelled conscience God does not exist even if they consider themselves religious. Belief as such is not relevant. One can make the casual claim “I believe in God”, which usually has the same meaning as “I do not believe in anything in particular”. The reason is that belief only matters when it is expressed as a lifestyle. It otherwise is tokenistic, an exercise in virtue signalling, or a parroting of precepts that are devoid of substance.

Belief in God means that you understand how you are part of the whole and, as such, how the widest possible field of view is the one that allows you to notice divine presence throughout. Your sense of self extends beyond the confines of your body to encompass increasingly more of your extended reality. You are closer to the divine when your mind is not racing anywhere and, conversely, you turn towards yourself, effectively deifying your ego, the faster your experience gets.

Through rituals we can get a glimpse of cosmic oneness by expanding our conscience. There no longer are indelible lines between the “me” and the “we”, between human and plant, animate and inanimate. All that is present exists on a continuum. Me, you, those who think they are great, and those who resent their failures while seeking to become somebody special, we all are equally partaking of the whole like folds of the same cloth.

Slowing down puts things in perspective. It empowers us to overcome petty concerns with their squabbles. It also frames our mind to understand the symbolism of our deeds, that the rituals and all the items we rely on are media for our detunnelling. Their value consists in slowing us down, in making us experience the oneness, but they are otherwise not worthy of our worship.

You do not need to spend 5 minutes expressing the most eloquent words ever codified as a prayer, for example. Even mumbling or remaining silent will suffice. Similarly, you do not require a theology or social apparatus of power, with high priests and opulent temples, to notice the vastness that environs you. Whether those structures are helpful or not will depend on your attitude: to see what they help you achieve, rather than to treat them as worthwhile in their own right.

The tokenistic mind is that of the person who speaks with impeccable political correctness and the most class-appropriate accent while actually expressing contempt for all those it considers inferior. It also is the mind of the idolater who misunderstands the function of sanctity at-large. There are no miraculous icons or temples or mountains or motions of the body or whatnot. All are designed to instil in us a sense of a world that extends beyond our self; a world we begin to notice through the openness of the slow-paced life.

Once we are conditioned to the extravagance of wealth, religious symbols are inevitably treated literally because we want them to be of higher production value until their grandeur of application competes for attention with the divine. Practitioners get distracted by the innate qualities of the materials. The shinny marbles of sunny Athens do not symbolise the light of Athena anymore, but usurp her exactly because they draw attention to themselves.

People of all backgrounds have a propensity towards idolatry. By “idolatry” I am referring to the valorisation of the item as such, instead of an appreciation of what it is pointing towards. They value it in its own right and then they want to ascribe to it supernatural powers, so that they can continue to admire it and feed their greed accordingly.

Similarly, people will worship power, manifesting as prestige or political authority, because it strikes fear in their hearts; fear which they mistake for the awe one experiences in realising the oneness of the cosmos.

Poverty is not virtuous per se. The poor man may still be daydreaming of becoming rich. He may be kissing up and punching down and will blithely throw his peers under the bus to get an appreciative look from the lord he both hates and reveres. “The lord” may be a local administrator, a rich businessperson, or a celebrity of some sort. The dynamic is the same. Furthermore, this poor man will take the first opportunity to pull the ladder behind him, in order to reinforce the feeling in his heart that he is not like “them”, like those for whom he harbours only contempt, those who remind him of what he once was.

What is safer is voluntary austerity, else simplicity. It consists in the recognition that God is not flattered by our offerings. One cannot bribe God to gain favours. That is a decadent attitude, for it treats the divine as a business partner. God is nobody’s best man and makes no exceptions.

Simplicity acknowledges that all tokens are meant to perform the function of reminding people to think of the highest and to aspire towards it. When presented with the statue of Apollon, for example, we do not pay attention to the statue but are inspired to appreciate cosmic harmony. We contemplate the muses and the enlightenment one gains from fully opening their conscience to the beauty of art. To this end, the statuette that is mass produced is more appropriate than the oeuvre of the master sculptor.

Temu Apollon is the best Apollon. The cheaper the design, the greater the effect. This is because people will likely not entertain notions of miraculous powers held by the effigy. They will realise that this item is a visual aid and nothing more.

Getting rid of icons in the hope of eliminating idolatry is not a solution, for the same holds true for temples. A basic building to protect the practitioners from the elements is enough. But when the places of worship are admired in their own right they create incentives for competition among the believers and towards others. The temple thus sets the stage for appreciating the materials. Those present will eventually attend the rites with the intent to impress their peers and, by extension, hope to make God notice them, analogous to the poor man’s want of gaining the momentary appreciation of their lord.

Even a modest temple engenders the wrong incentives when it is presented as the house of God, as if it has some kind of exclusivity or special relationship with the divine. There is no such thing. The divine is not containable. It does not need a house, nor can it be limited by walls. It transcends our boundaries. The moment we think that God favours a certain building (or a specific group for that matter), we attribute to it preference and bias and with it the potential for pettiness. Plus, we value the building for something more than what it is.

Religion beyond the temple is one that speaks of the ubiquity of the divine. All it needs is a rock or generic table anywhere to help the priests perform their rituals. Whatever one finds to get on with the task is sufficient. There is no shame therein. The ritual, then, teaches people to let go of their pretences, to show up in plain apparel, and to remember that the offerings they bring is for them to practice the attitude of letting go of the materials that humanity has a propensity to cling on to and to hoard with a burning passion. The ritual thus performs the function of broadening one’s field of view without distractions.

Earlier today I read two articles:

• Do violent incels dream of orgies in the sky? by Valerie Stivers for Unherd.
• The wolverine gospel by Jeff Wheelwright for Psyche.

Both articles tell us something about the human condition. Each provides insight into different facets of it. In the first article, Valerie reports on an incel ideologue who produced a manifesto for political change and acted out of it in terrorist fashion. The manifesto incorporates thoughts that are prevalent online, while making the metapoint of what can happen when someone has means but no purpose in life. Valerie notes:

That such a philosophy [of consumerism/materialism] serves humans poorly is easily visible. The manifesto uses a dehumanizing terminology of “females” and “copulation”; elides the difference between copulation and love; assumes marriage is a mutually hostile transaction for individual benefit; and mostly lacks concern that, in its preferred future state of affairs, most women would be married against their wishes. More frightening is that all the underlying — and essentially Christian — ideals that humanized previous materialist systems and made them aspire to nobility and justice are just … missing for the incels. Moral relativism, and its corresponding ideology of individualist self-pleasure, have been espoused for generations, but it’s never previously been tried without underpinnings of some kind of vestigial morality. Hatfield — and we might here genuinely say through no fault of his own — was trying it.

I will elaborate on this story further below. In the second article, Jeff presents the deeds of a scientist, named Jeff Copeland, who studies wolverines. Beyond the details about those animals and their surrounding nature, this article teaches us how humans respond to awe and how they may then think of their place in the world:

I came to realize that the inevitability of a higher power was not something I came upon independently, rather it was something given to me by my mother, by the church, among others. I never experienced the comfort it was supposed to provide and its claim to hold ALL the answers rang hollow. As I was introduced to what science provided – information derived through a very specific process called the scientific method – I became engrossed by the objectivity of the process. The results were always open for debate but never tied to the supernatural. The answers science provided were testable and repeatable, and I felt I had found my place.

Valerie hints at Christianity as a common good in what may be a boutique view of history, while Jeff presents Jeff Copeland as a person who thinks of atheistic science, the core expression of a method of inquiry, as the midpoint of community. To me, the modalities do not matter, so long as people come together in a spirit of shared belonging. Couched in those terms, truth does not factor in: even a completely made up story is fine if it gives us the impetus to be together and, as such, the best imagined stories are those that empower us to coexist over time. When we partake in team games, for example, we do it for the fun of the moment and to strengthen our social bonds, not because we have carefully investigated all the attendant propositions and acted out in a purely rational way.

The “I” finds fulfillment in the “we” when the “me” goes through the “us”. I do not know how it feels to be an incel. In recent years I became aware of the phenomenon of porn addiction after talking with people who described their experiences. I was then informed how most Internet traffic is related to pornography. This does not surprise me, given that even your average Hollywood production is pornographic to varying degrees. This is a culture that treats people as cogs in a machine so it will naturally also see them as meat in other ways. Because I cannot relate to those men’s lived experiences, I refrain from passing judgement. Though what I learnt about this manifesto does not inspire to read further.

While I disagree with the points of the manifesto that are shared in the linked article, I think Valerie’s criticism stands on shaky ground. She effectively dismisses that man’s thoughts as one big cope. The problem with this approach is that literally everything people do can be seen through this lens, even for those who are conventionally super successfully. Pick a rich, popular, and handsome man, for example, of the sort incels obsess over: you can argue that he boasts about his alpha status as a way of coping with the fact that he is not confident enough to live a minimalist, spiritual life in seclusion. An alpha, after all, is entirely dependent on the views of others qua alpha: a function of opinion. Now you may object to that argument on the grounds that “nobody cares about such an alternative lifestyle” though this is merely an appeal to convention. I can go on with such examples but will not belabour the point: “coping” is not a good descriptive tool. Same for “projecting”, by the way. You should try harder.

The fact of the matter is that increasingly more people are feeling disconnected from the world. There is a shrinking sense of community because the historical milieux of communitarian experience are shrinking. This is especially true in cities. You live in an apartment that you pay rent for, as does everyone around you. Tenants come and go, so there is no sense of continuity. Unlike the slow-paced village life, you do not know the entire family tree of your neighbour and thus cannot know whether to trust them or not. Same for them vis-à-vis you. If you say “hello” to people in your neighbourhood, they look at you suspiciously. The starting point is one of barriers to entry: a stranger among strangers. By the time you manage to create a sense of neighbourliness, it is time for you or them to move to another apartment. The rootlessness persists and the concomitant feeling of emptiness becomes more pervasive.

I hear more about male incels but would not be surprised if related insecurites are running rampant among females as well. They are, after all, expected to be beautiful at all times and thus become prime targets of every campaign that induces and then exploits insecurity. But I will not speculate because I have not been told enough.

The more I read about these phenomena, however, the more sceptical I become of pop culture notions of evolutionary psychology. Humans are complex animals with multilayered patterns of behaviour yet the relevant talk reduces us to simple automata. If we do something other than what our putative “biology” demands, then we must be hiding something or, again, “coping”. The actual scientific study of humans is very tricky because it cannot be done in vitro: the subject responds to the experiments, while the experiments themselves are necessarily construing a relatively simple scenario that conditions the patient accordingly to become more mechanistic. Furthermore, the business of scientific publishing is such that it engenders incentives for what effectively is a glorified popularity contest (high impact factor journals, judging performance by the number of publications, et cetera). We still want science, but have to have the necessary maturity and cautiousness of the scientific thinker to not jump to sweeping generalisations. This is where we do not benefit from infusing teneous findings with conventional tokens of success, for we then only vindicate the categories we have already assumed as worthwhile.

Which brings me to the second article about Jeff Copeland and the wolverines. Though I am not religious myself, it is a mistake to think that theology, which is a branch of philosophy, does not involve debates: the “-logy” suffix (from logos, as in speech, among many others) is part of the term, after all. Do not conflate theology with any given dogma, for they have different target audiences. Theology is for a select few, while the dogma distills precepts that are practical and on the balance benign for a given social whole. Dogmas have to be impervious to discussion so that they compel people into action that is effectively pro-social, much like how a parent sometimes needs to be inflexible towards their young child in pursuit of a greater good.

At the heart of religion is hierarchy: individuals are not free to do whatever they want and must instead submit to relevant authorities. Religion incorporates a theology but is not limited to it. It also has myths, rituals, festivals, ideas about everyday affairs, and a clear framework about how social life should unfold. In short, religion is a complete system of interpersonal relations and social reproduction. Most people will benefit from it because it gives them a clear role in life while they themselves lack the means, in terms of intellectual accumen and emotional stability, to find such a role on their own without causing immense harm in the process.

I am not religious because nature endowed me with the intellect and character of the philosopher. I understand, nonetheless, that individuals need guidance at all times and society cannot be optimised around someone like me. I necessarily occupy the margins.

The Western world leans heavily on tokenistic religiosity: it appeals to the divine, it employs its symbols and imagery, it opportunistically commits to rituals and blithely synthesises different spiritual or philosophical traditions, yet is fundamentally non-religious owning to its anti-communitarian quotidian dynamics. The moment the common good, god or whatever it may be, is reduced to a personal affair along the lines of self-help doctrine, it becomes ineffective from the point of social organisation, as it undoes the essence of religiosity: hierarchy. Indeed, the very word means “holy/priest” (ιέρ-) and “order” or “structure” or “rule” (αρχή). Only when we all exalt something as sacrosanct, and only after we fasten our lives around it, do we have religion.

What religion claims about the divine is secondary to the primary function of collective integrity. The average Christian, for example, cannot argue at length about John’s «εν αρχή ην ο λόγος» (“in the beginning was the word”). They do not need to: that is a topic for philosophers. As such, when someone says that they are a Christian because they read the New Testament and think it holds the truth, I say they are doing it wrong: be religious for the sake of the community, and have theological discussions with theologians, but understand that the latter does not give you the former. Philosophy is a lonely endeavour because few people have the patience and temperance for it. Once you admit that you are being philosophical in your disposition, you accept the attendant loneliness.

And just to be clear on what I mean by “loneliness”: you cannot walk into the neighbourhood or village and just share with others your philosophical thoughts. The residents are not interested and cannot even follow you all the way. The requirement for sustained attention alone is simply too high a barrier. You literally see patterns in the world that are invisible to them. The vast majority of your social experiences will therefore come at the expense of this dominant side of yours (e.g. sitting at the Christmas table while accepting that the topic will change every couple of minutes).

Community is the greatest value. Everything we do culminates in finding others. Some of the finest thinkers of all time have contributed to religious thought in one way or another. Science has always been around, yet those sages understood that there is knowledge to be discerned beyond the particularities of phenomena. The greatest among them even realised that there is more value to be had in myths than facts, since a captivating story forever serves as a platform for discussion among members of the community that have different levels of skill (e.g. the grandparent and the grandchild, the hierarch and the peasant). Plus, they recognised something that our world is increasingly lacking: people need a sense of belonging at all costs, not truth at all costs. They do not have it organically anymore as part of their milieu, so they seek belonging in increasingly pernicious subcultures.

Jeff Copeland discovered community in science. In studying wolverines, he did not reach “the truth”. No. That is what scientists think they are after because they still have much to learn. He only found his place in the world and thrived because of it. Yes, there is a place for such people outside the confines of religion. They are the exceptions though. Your average person will not have a lifelong fascination about a field of scientific inquiry, even if they are working in the field because of other considerations such as a stable career and a prestigious position. What those people need is community: to give them boundaries, set them on a path, hold them accountable, and inspire them to tend to needs beyond their own personhood.

The moral of the story for men who identify as incels and for everyone else is to turn their attention outward. Inwardness breeds discontent as it cannot create a sense of awe: it cannot find anything greater than itself. Instead of lamenting their condition, of seeking community through shared victimhood, they can strive to make stuff happen by proceeding through initiative: to build things, to create projects that they maintain long-term, to contribute to the greater whole, without feeling that they are entitled to anything. Communities occur naturally around the artefacts we set up, while men are good at clearing the land, as it were, upon which safe spaces may be established.

The discussion is about my publication:

• The mask of Phantes (2026-05-12).
• Reading my ‘The mask of Phantes’ story (2026-05-13).

Part one

Hi Prot,

Hello Pablo,

today I read The Mask Of Phantes and I wanted to comment on it and get your thoughts.

Yes, sure!

I take the mask to represent something like the public persona that in this case brings Phantes fame. Sorry in advance if the interpretation is wrong.

Generally speaking, I do not think there can be a wrong interpretation. What I was thinking at the time is not necessarily what I am thinking now. What I was trying to describe may not be how I will interpret it today. Same for other people.

I find that this is the power of stories, myths, and art in general. They inspire us to think about something based on the specifics of our experience. In the process we may learn something more about ourselves and our place in the world.

To your interpretation, the way I see the mask is as the inalienable, defining quality of the person. It is a strong quality, which can become a blessing and a curse. For example, an exceptionally smart person may always be expected to do much more than average, which prevents them from ever having a normal life (whatever “normal” would be).

I think public personas have two dimensions: a little of the actual person, and some (a lot?) that people add to it or assume. If that’s the case, Phantes was better off in terms of connection. Even if the others didn’t see him fully, they did see some of him. Public personas are not purely masks, they always have some reality to them.

This can be the case. It will depend on the specifics. One may end up being more lonely when they are seen in this very public way. The reason is that they may compare what they seem to have in public to what their private reality is. Think of the high-profile suicides that happen, for instance: we would think that a successful and popular figure would never go down that path.

The contrast is of course the owner of the house, who seems to have given Phantes everything he needed, only that not really. Phantes was dissatisfied with his loneliness, after all, and chose action instead of inaction. It’s sad that it didn’t work out and ended up worse in the end, but he did the right thing by at least trying. It’s a bit unsatisfactory that he didn’t get to benefit from what he learnt.

Here is an interesting facet of the human condition. Even when we receive a warning, we are still keen on exploring the boundaries and testing our luck. For example, the ancient myth of Icarus is about human’s wish to fly and thus to test our limits: Icarus dies but that only teaches us of the limits of a given technology, so we will keep trying. And what are we going to do after that? Well, keep trying.

Phantes may not benefit from the lesson he learnt, but others who hear of the story may understand something to better calibrate their own approach. This is, after all, the fate that awaits those who have the courage to do what has not been done before.

Of course, the ideal would have been to find that mutual recognition / true connection, but I don’t think the mask is necessarily at odds with that goal. In real life people wouldn’t all try to escape from him, some would want to meet the real person to see for themselves how much of the mask is actually true.

Yes, connection is possible as the person behind the persona is not lost. That would be the blessing part.

The curse part is that of objectification combined with the potential of frenzy that reverence creates. Think of someone like the Pope: could he ever give up on his role is and just do something else, assuming he has a change of heart? Can you imagine what would happen if the Pope changed his faith one day to, say, become a pagan? That would probably be among the most controversial things to ever happen. The person, then, who performs the function of the Pope by wearing the hat has effectively been taken over by the hat.

Now the Pope is an example just to point out what the dynamics are. Of course, being the Pope is not “curse” per se.

As a final thought, I further believe that the public persona might be better than the actual person sometimes. We show the best version of ourselves, we don’t show our inadequacies. It all boils down to how much of your public persona is shaped by other people’s expectations as opposed to your ideals. If the public persona is the person you wished you were, it’s an expression of your values and it’s good that it is admired and shared by others. I suppose that the mask is a public persona built for the purpose of being admired by others, but betraying one’s own values?

This can indeed happen. One way to think of this is how we have a powerful motivation to be better so as to become more popular. The public performance also serves as an accountability structure: we are expected to live up to the standard we have set for ourselves. A public person then is a vehicle for doing something that would otherwise not be done.

About betraying values, that depends on the persona. For example, I think the Pope keeps his values intact.

What I didn’t get are the references to beauty, since making yourself more beautiful should always be good? Unless it was bought at some high cost; but all else equal beauty is better than ugliness.

Generally, yes: being good looking is more beneficial than being average looking or outright ugly. I picked beauty in particular because it is a power of attraction. But it could have been anything else, really, such as intelligence, skill, money, power…

Think of money, then, as that might be an easier example. You are a rich man in his 60s. There is this young woman in her 20s who professes to be in love with you. Maybe she loves you or maybe she sees you as a glorified credit card. This is already tricky. Now imagine you have hundreds of those women throwing themselves at you everywhere you go. Not only you will struggle to form a connection, but you also run very real risks of getting in trouble (e.g. a woman will say that you abused her, so that she can get a nice payment from you).

This is not an argument against beauty, power, money, etc. The point is to understand that what is blessing can also be a curse.

As you can see, I liked your story quite a bit! Or my interpretation of it, at any rate

Thank you for taking the time to write this! And, as I noted, all interpretations are fruitful.

Part two

An inalienable, defining quality changes the whole interpretation of your story!

It ultimately is another interpretation. There is no right or wrong here. The way I see it, a story is a discussion starter. A good story just needs to be memorable enough. Then we have something to talk about. And maybe we can learn something deeper in the process.

And it makes Phantes situation much more difficult because it’s unclear what he could have done better. He can’t undo what he becomes, he acquired some relevant trait that is permanent, and probably good, yet he ends in doom. I guess that’s the whole point, that these things paint you to a corner, like in the Pope example.

He could have accepted the outcome. Kind of “I got what I asked for”. This is the other side of people in general: even if we are warned about the dangers of something, we may still want to try it. This is a trait that is neither good nor bad, or both good and bad. We are empowered to expand our boundaries though we sometimes harm ourselves.

In the end, he can’t control the fact that people are just interested in the new trait. I will point out, however, that some of the masks you mentioned are far from inalienable, like money or beauty. But I get your point, and in practice it might be very difficult to rid ourselves from them once we have them.

You are right that most, if not all, masks can be removed. I cannot think of an example that qualifies as a “mask”, kind of a role like being the Pope or somebody famous, which would strictly speaking be inalienable. The Pope can still change his faith, even if that is highly unlikely, extremely difficult, probably very dangerous, and the like. The famous person can renounce their wealth, move to some remote place, and so on.

That granted, Phantes represents the want for authentic connection. He realises that people care about him through the mask, not him as such. He wants to be accepted as-is, but instead he becomes idolised. He is thus not allowed to casually be himself around others. So he decides to leave.

As an aside, a friend told me some time ago about the story of this Korean pop singer. I think it is about a woman. She used to be single when she became famous. One day she announced that she got into a relationship. The response from the fans was toxic: “is not the love of your fans enough to you?”. I cannot find a relevant news article right now… This is how I remember it. It sounds extreme, though some parasocial relationships can be like that.

Also, I think Phantes has another problem: a potential tendency to test others to see if they are interested in the mask or the rest of himself. Testing others is very toxic and it can prevent him from finding connection. Overthinking the mask leads to unhealthy relationships just as much as having the mask in the first place, I believe. A potential moral of the story could be “find connections early and cherish them, because after getting a mask it’s very difficult to be truly seen”

Good point! And this is generally why we learn to live with ambiguity. There are no clear-cut answers to peoples motives. We are complex beings. People may not even know exactly why they do something because it is not necessarily rational or completely conscious. In this regard, Phantes is like Icarus: he is told that his wish is only going to destroy him, he does it anyway, and as a result the rest of us learn (or remember) what the limits are.

Maybe I should re-read it with all of this in mind.

Sure!

Anyway thanks for replying, I won’t further distract you :)

No problem! Thank you for the exchange!

I was wondering how do you have the courage to become who you are today, you know, making speech and talk to different people. I have to do a presentation next week, and I find that even the most trivial presentation would stress me out and ruin my whole week. Is there any tip?

Change takes time. Big transformations are the result of many small tweaks whose cumulative effect eventually becomes noticeable as the new normal. There is this expression in English that “practice makes perfect”, which basically means that you become competent at something the more you do it. Though you also have to be mindful of what exactly you are doing. The technique or the method matters, otherwise you are embedding initial errors as second nature, which then makes them harder to correct.

Specifically on the topic of making a presentation, there are two core skills involved. One is the ability to express an idea clearly. The other is to connect with people at the interpersonal level through language.

You can think of “clear expression” as a direct path to somewhere. There are no obstacles, no branching sideways, no surprises and distractions: it just goes from A to B. You improve this skill by writing—and you have to write consistently. What you write about does not matter. The point is to pick a topic that you care about and formulate at least one relevant thought that makes sense. For example, you can write about the job you do, the place you live, a book you read…

Write as if you are addressing a stranger. So you cannot say “I like this book because it is good”, as that contains a lot of unknown information which may be clear in your head but does not appear in context. Instead, you have to note how, e.g. “I like this book because it taught me about X”. Then describe X to someone who is unfamiliar with the given domain of knowledge.

You do not need to publish your writings or show them to anyone. But it is essential for you to imagine that they are open to the public. This helps you have the correct frame of mind to make the thought understandable.

I described clarity as going from point A to point B without any impediments. A common mistake is to overexplain things. Perhaps you do it to prove that you really know what you are talking about. Or you underestimate the skills of the other person. The reason is not relevant though. When you overexplain, you effectively introduce distractions by making the instructions too verbose and thus too difficult to process. The essence may still be “from A you reach B”, but this “essence” cannot be buried under piles of unimportant details.

At this early stage you will not be competent at focusing on the essentials. Just know that there will be lots of “useless additives” in the beginning. As you write, those will gradually disappear. An example is what you have just read. You will notice that up until this point I have been thorough, but not frivolous with my words: I have not mentioned anything unrelated to the point I am elaborating on, nor have I explained every single concept I introduced.

The interpersonal skill is what separates interesting presentations from boring ones. Lots of scientists, for example, are excellent at getting all the details right but terrible at producing an interesting presentation. This is because they do not consider a basic fact about people: we remember big ideas and tend to forget tiny details. I can tell you about a story I heard when I was a kid, but I already forgot the quarterly report I got from the ministry of financial affairs.

Consider that our tendency to grasp the big ideas and forget the details is also a function of time. We might have the capacity to remember some details if they are given to us over, say, 30 seconds, but we will not be able to keep every detail in our head over the course of a 20-minute technical presentation. That is overwhelming.

Understand, then, that you are talking to people and are making a somewhat general point. This is true even in a technical setting. For example, a scientist should communicate their main findings and let their paper go over the technicalities of the data. You want to give them the big picture. It is sufficiently informative, but not too detailed.

People effectively need “breathing space”. You cannot bombard them with words non-stop. Pace yourself to be slow. Introduce brief pauses in between periods of higher intensity. If something is monotonous, then it is harder for people to discern patterns: they feel they are entering a closed space, with nothing to see, which makes them lose interest. So read/talk with the intent of varying the tones. Then you get them to listen to you because you keep their brain active.

Control your breath so that you can speak properly and think clearly. You do this if you are not rushing to finish your points. Have short sentences. Use commas for emphasis. Again, take it slow. Read this last sentence with a break where the comma is, like “again STOP take it slow”. Now read it again without that stop to check how awkward it is.

The ability to pause communicates confidence because you truly are in control of the situation: you are not panicking, you are not showing that you would rather be somewhere else, you are not trying to run away, you are not afraid of the clock.

You get better at this skill by practising speech. Consider recording yourself. Write your presentation in a way that is slow, has pauses, and lets you vary the tones. Then read it out loud and check the recording. Focus on the clarity of the words. If your breathing is correct, then you have air to speak loudly.

With enough practice you will learn to communicate effectively even on topics you are not prepared for, though that is the longer-term result. Similarly, once you get better at pacing yourself, you will be able to work on non-verbal communication: to look around the room, to establish eye contact, to have an aura of perfect balance. Though these come later. Right now your goal is to learn the contents of your presentation: they are not too detailed and they are not monotonous. Then read it properly, as I have outlined here.

Finally, remember that what you are feeling is normal. Everybody is like this because public speaking—and public speaking that is coherent and laser-focused—is not something we get by default. We become better at it through continuous practice. Try things to the best of your ability. You may not be good right now, but you will improve over time. Even if you are not good at all at doing presentations, you can still write a script for next week that contains elements of what I have covered, such as clear points and viable pacing.

In Greek we say “there is no ‘I cannot’ but only ‘I do not want to’”. Our emphasis is on the honesty of the effort: try it sincerely and only then decide if you can or cannot do it. But do not quit early, as that is your fear or complacency speaking. Of course, there are things we cannot change through practice (e.g. I cannot train to become 3 metres tall), but most things are malleable. Have this attitude and take it one step at a time. The rest will follow naturally.

Over the past few weeks Atlas’ cancer has resurfaced. This time I will probably not be able to do anything about it, though I will still check with the medical experts. The cancer has already grown more than what it was a few months ago when the doctor performed an operation on it. I still take care of Atlas and provide all I can. He is happy, though noticeably weaker than what he was even in recent times.

This is the real world. We long for happy endings. Our stories have them, as do our dominant religions. There has to be something more, something in another place that is better than what we have here. Such is our hope and desire. There is no proof of an altogether different world; a world of pure bliss. We want it to exist perhaps to distract ourselves from the actuality of our condition. Here things are neither purely blissful nor completely miserable. There is attraction and repulsion, that which is beautiful and that which is disgusting. One flows into the other. It is and becomes not, depending on the interplay of factors that constitute the given case.

My life with Atlas goes back a decade when I got him as a tiny puppy. On day one, during our first walk, he stood up against a large, poorly socialised Rottweiler. I remained calm and smiled at his audacity. The other man was struggling to contain his dog and was visibly stressed.

Atlas grew up to be a mighty dog, blessed with supreme intelligence, and independent in his behaviour. He never works for me: he only does what he wants, cooperating with me when it makes sense to him. So he learnt all the essentials of living with people and skipped the lessons for all the tangentially useful tricks. I am a little bit like him and he is like me. The closest I have ever experienced to an ideal friendship between human and dog.

Cancer or not, death is part of the incessant process. The story of the universe is one of dust configured into systems of systems, transfiguring into galaxies and particles alike, all exhibiting the constants of patterns, structure, cause and effect else feedback loops else language. Reasonableness woven into fabric. Such is the living universe of which we are a part. A cycle everlasting, experienced as an organism of organisms.

We suffer for as long as we expect the world to deliver us from one of its facets. Mind without body, good without evil, happiness without suffering, sociability without the messiness of human relations, and so on. There is no pure benevolence as the irreducible quality, no father in heaven as the supreme good, for such a being necessarily is in a mode of being, inclined a certain way, which may then be made manifest as its context-dependent irreconcilable other on a spectrum of preference, inclination, way, or mode. An omnipotent god qua omnipotent cannot be constrained and thus cannot be limited to any one quality, goodness included. Whatever ultimately is, simply is. The mode of being is a point on an infinite line: a presence that is transfigurable.

I will continue to live with Atlas and my three other dogs, Raizou, Meelon, and Oreeon, the way I have done hitherto. We are happy here in the mountains. The dogs run around the slopes unleashed. They are close to their wolf nature, owning to the exposure they get to these open vistas. I, too, have long now rewilded myself because I accepted the world as-is and consequently escaped from the grip of fancy, of the want for happy endings. I am undisturbed by indeterminacy and open-endedness. I do not expect anything and fear nothing. This evening, when the sun sets, we will go for our nightly hike with the same vigour and intensity we always do. And when we cannot do that anymore, we shall do whatever our condition renders unavoidable.

I was curious, what is your general approach to learning something new? For example, say you become interested in lockpicking (locksport). What would your approach be to learn this?

In general my approach goes something so likes so:

1. See if there is a subreddit dedicated to the topic, “r/locksport/” in this case.
2. See there “Wiki” section (r/locksport/wiki/index) and read through any type of “Beginner” resources.
3. If there is a recommended book, I will begin with that, then move on towards interactive courses, or lastly, YouTube videos.

If there is no subreddit, than I will likely search online for “Locksport book” or perhaps “Locksport filetype:pdf” and go from there. You’re a very knowledgeable person so I would love to see how you approach learning.

Before even learning something new, I question whether I even need that skill or piece of knowledge. This is because I do not have enough time to commit to everything I would otherwise be keen on exploring.

For me, it is essential to be mindful of one’s tendency to go down rabbit holes. If you do not control your propensity to indulge your curiosity then you run the risk of not focusing on your duties and thus never experiencing fulfilment. I basically have infinite curiosity as well as the basic skills to become competent at virtually anything, but my resources are finite, so I have to optimise accordingly.

I think it is rewarding to hold yourself back from that which is impressed in your mind as new and shiny. Yes, it is attractive though it comes with considerable hidden costs. Commit to what you have. Only expand your activities when there is a deep-seated reason for it, at which point you are prepared to incur whatever costs in pursuit of the expected benefits.

In other words, know your limits and live within your means.

To your point, I think your approach is good. Though I am cautious of Reddit as the advice you get there will not necessarily be reliable. This is not because others are trying to deceive you, but simply a consequence of the mismatch of available information, wants, and priorities.

I will use Emacs as an example. If you go to the subreddit for it to ask any question you will likely get answers that you cannot seamlessly integrate in your current knowledge. The respondents do not know exactly what your current level is, are not aware of your usage patterns, cannot anticipate your immediate needs, and probably do not think the way you do.

Depending on your question, you will get diametrically opposed views. Each contributor may be right within the context of their respective workflow, but this does not mean that the feedback you will receive is actionable for you and of high value.

My approach is to read the official resources or study the primary material, wherever relevant. Anything derived therefrom (e.g. a community Wiki) will come later after I have a sense of what I am looking for. I approach the topic with an eye towards simplicity: the elaborate methods are likely surplus to my requirements.

Also, I recognise that there are marginal returns to any given endeavour. I do not need to become the best engineer in the world in order to build a house. I just need to be “good enough” and—voilà—I do what I set my mind to. Again, I resist going further deep if I do not have an excellent reason to do so.

I put ideas into action. I want to experience the consequences of my deeds: I proceed through trial and error, which is why I am slow and methodical by default. I get bored by endless chatter and its attendant indecision, which is also why I do not think highly of those who do thought experiments but have never practised anything of what they entertain. As such, those who make claims of any sort about their acumen I judge on the basis of their behaviour, not their stated beliefs.

I live by that standard. This is why I refrain from saying much and from making promises. If I state something, it is because I do it. I speak from a position of embededness: the knowledge I have is reflected in my life.

This brings me back to being careful about what I commit to learning. You mention locksport, for example. This is the first time I encounter the term. It may be something that I will like if I try in earnest. But right now I cannot think of a scenario that is relevant to my day-to-day affairs. So I am not going to search online what exactly you are describing, even though I am curious to learn more. I will not even try, not because I have anything against you or somehow pass negative judgement to this activity, but only due to the understanding that I have a zillion other things I could also be checking out, while I know that I have projects I am committed to which demand my continuous attention. My projects will thus take priority.

To be a skilful learner, then, I master the basic power of restraint.

First round

When I see your content about living in the mountains of Cyprus, building your own house, working on your garden, taking pictures of yourself, building your life in seclusion, etc., one question that ALWAYS pops up in my mind is, “how’s he gonna do `marriage’?”, or “how a man living outside the city, in the mountains, by himself, ever does or ever going to satisfy one human need a man feels almost every day in the most intense way possible, which is sexual intimacy?”

[…]

You are living in the mountains, which sounds nice. But in return, from my point of view, you get none of these:

• woman
• money
• status

[…]

I guess my question is along the lines of, what’s your prospect of marriage, you think? Do you consider that never happening for you? Did you let go of this? If so, don’t you think you are letting go of a very intense part of “a man’s lived experience”, that is, sexuality, out of your life? Doesn’t this impoverish your life?

You are right. Living in a remote area means that I do not have access to women, money, and status.

• I have no interest in status. More importantly, I do not pay attention to what others think in general or think of me in particular. I act out of my own initiative.

• Money is relevant only to the extent that I cover my basic needs. Since I do not value status, this practically means that I do not have lots of material wants, such as fancy furniture, expensive cars, vacations in luxury resorts, et cetera. To be clear, I do not think those are inherently wrong: I simply am not drawn to them.

• For the purposes of our exchange here, a woman is interesting to me only if she wants to have children. She does not need to be beautiful, or smart, or an intellectual, or whatnot. Just have the disposition for children.

Based on those three you can already tell that me living in the mountains is not the main constraint.

I am poor and thus not attractive to any woman who cares about status and comfort more broadly. I will not put my heart into a career and so I diminish my chances of ever being financially secure. Adding to this, anybody who has checked my publications knows that I am not the kind of person who will be easy for an employer to control, which makes me practically unemployable (this is no mere theory of mine, as I have had prospective employers point out my strong independentist quality as a major downside for them).

I lived in much more densely populated areas and I even worked in highly social jobs with plenty of women. For me, it is easy to talk to people. Still, I never met a woman that I would start a family with. Of course, it could simply mean that I am not physically attractive (and I am definitely not attractive as a means for upward social mobility). But, again, the point is that the mountains are not the primary issue here.

Living in the mountains introduces a pre-filter. All women who seek money and status will not be living in this place or will be eager to leave. The only question mark is whether I can meet a woman who already lives here out of her own volition or who would actually want to relocate to this place. This has not happened and may never happen.

To your questions about marriage, I think that I will not get married. I will be 38 soon and was never close to getting married. There is no indication that a change will happen. It is something I came to terms with a long time ago and accepted it as part of my reality. This is why I even moved to the mountains to begin with. I am not disturbed by it and have no regrets. The mountains are beautiful, my wellness is optimal, and I feel as strong and capable as ever.

My attitude is to work with what I have and be grateful for it. I keep tending to my tasks without distractions and am happy. Wanting companionship for the sake of companionship is what makes one miserable: they place their worth as a person on another person’s favourable opinion—and opinions are fickle. Plus, having companionship for its own sake means that you are suppressing important aspects of your selfhood, which will inevitably break you in other ways.

Second round

PROT: You are right. Living in a remote area means that I do not have access to women, money, and status.

• I have no interest in status. More importantly, I do not pay attention to what others think in general or think of me in particular. I act out of my own initiative.

I find this interesting and borderline unbelievable. In my personal experience and observations about other people around me, also considering the basic psychology of mankind that I’ve read from evolutionary psychology books, the “status seeking” is a fundamental activity the man as a social animal conducts. So, I am inclined to say, surely you must also be seeking status albeit in a more veiled or not immediately apparent sense. For example, every hobby group, from Magic the Gathering trading card game players, to open source/free software development communities have unspoken of but observed “status” markers, holders, and plays. I think, in your case, you hold high status among the “emacs content creators”-sphere online. However, I don’t want to immediately imply that you’ve sought to get high status in emacs community when you put out your useful content that you’ve put so much time and effort in.

I expect all thought to be nuanced, otherwise it will be discerning the categories it already considers constant while reaching questionable conclusions in the process.

Everything can be construed as attention-seeking, including the act of avoiding attention, such that all actions are reducible to a want for status. If you apply this consistently, you quickly eliminate all nuance and your analytical capacity is limited accordingly.

In turn, this leads to the tendency of explaining everything along the lines of coping and projecting—“twin sophistries”, as I have called them before. If I say “I do not like X” it must be that I cannot have X as my own and thus I hide behind a negative opinion of X, without even realising it. Similarly, if I say “Y is what people do”, it is because Y really is a frailty of mine that I wish to find in other people so that I feel better about myself.

Couched in those terms, everything is an elaborate trick that is ultimately reducible to a matter for your genitals. So the answer to every “why” can be “sex” which in turn implies “survival”.

I think there is value in that line of reasoning but we have to be careful with it. It is not a magic trick to explain all that is pertinent to the human condition.

PROT: My attitude is to work with what I have and be grateful for it.

This. This is the part I am having a hard time with. Because when I read your blog, when I see your pictures, your videos, etc., I involuntarily find myself putting myself in your shoes, and finding myself gauging my emotional state if I was in your shoes. I find that I would be mostly furious with ambition, repeating the lines:

Do not go gentle into that good night. RAGE. RAGE, AGAINST THE DYING TO THE LIGHT.

…to myself, until I finally get my comeuppance against the world that has pushed me into poverty, loneliness. Finally take my vengeance and “get mine” in this world by getting a career (possibly in tech industry) that allows me to bring upon it disruption (as in “disruptive innovation” of business cycles) so that I can carve out a piece from the world in my shape (that is, “get mine”, in women, money and status).

I see. I do not feel anything about the world: it simply is. I am calm and do not blame anyone. If I was disturbed by my living conditions then I would have gone mad by now. Whereas I am indifferent towards specific outcomes and live as easygoing of a life as possible.

I make a distinction between “commitment to initiatives” and “commitment to results”. I am fully committed to my projects but I will not feel disturbed if things do not work the way I had imagined.

I understand, in the deepest sense of feeling and embodying it, that the world does not revolve around me and that I am not entitled to anything. The world does not exist for me and I do not expect it to conspire in my favour.

The question I have for you is one related to behaviour. I have been informally studying, and trying to practically apply, philosophy for about three years now. While I can say with confidence that I have learned a little about it, I am hesitant in claiming I have learned how to live it. I have had months in which I feel in control of my actions and in touch with the world, but they are dispersed by periods where my impulses have the reigns. The recurring pitfall I find myself in, is simplified as follows:

• Through reflection I have realised that XYZ is bad for me.
• Likewise I realised that ABC is good for me or necessary.
• When the time arises for ABC, I do XYZ.

In general XYZ is easily accessible and gives instant gratification, while ABC requires effort and the fruits are not borne until later. An example of XYZ is wasting time away e.g. on YouTube, whereas ABC is writing my thesis.

It feels very silly when written out like this, and the answer would be to just do ABC. I believe that in moments where I am at a crossroads between the good and bad actions, I push my reason aside and simply indulge in the instant gratification given by XYZ.

I was wondering if you have had experience with or any thoughts on this. I want to be able to rely on myself, but it feels as if deep inside I do not truly want to give up my bad habits. Perhaps I am scared of the notion of a life where I am missing out on many conveniences. How do you keep yourself in check once you decide not to do XYZ, especially in moments where it feels as if your body yearns for it?

I think this is a case of conditioning. It is not about how well you understand what you want to do or how bad the consequences are of the behaviour you are trying to avoid. It is not even a matter of how strongly you believe in your values.

Conditioning is about the automaticity that we naturally build for everything. One way to understand this is with the muscle memory that helps you type on the keyboard. Your fingers know where to be and your hands move accordingly without you having to think about each tiny motion again and again. Even if you are not a proper touch typist you still have embedded in your body a certain memory of how things are done.

The body does this to economise on the consumption of energy. It is equivalent to the cache on the computer. The upside is that we do not have to relearn everything on a continuous basis, which is energy-intensive. Think how much time/effort it would take to relearn how to type each day or even multiple times per day—and then extend that to everything you have learnt. Same if the computer needs to re-run all the computations from zero to get the values it needs each time: it becomes increasingly burdensome to do anything. The downside of this conservation of energy is that we embed potentially harmful patterns that are then hard to undo, just how it is difficult to retrain our muscle memory.

In the scenario you describe, conditioning involves situational memory. It is about the association of a certain place with a given activity and its attendant stimuli. To change the activity, then, you need to break that association. One approach is to have the iron will to “just do it”, but I personally have little faith in that being successful, as it requires discipline that can only be developed over time (and if you had that then we would not be having this exchange). The other approach, which I prefer, is to physically remove yourself from that place and to do something else instead.

For example, sitting at your computer in the afternoon triggers you to perform some mentally harmful activity. You then need to catch yourself early in the action. Once you are done with the task you actually wish to accomplish switch off the computer and leave the room. Go outside for a walk, play some sport, do gardening, make your own bread and cook a nice meal, or stick to literally anything that requires some attention while keeping you physically away from the computer. You want to keep a distance from the situation that enables the pernicious activity for as long as possible. This distance is physical at first and becomes mental over time, at which point you are in control of your behaviour rather than the behaviour being in control of you.

Creating such a separation will allow you to gradually weaken and eventually dismantle the connections you once had, while creating new and benign ones in their stead.

You mention yearning, so let me offer a concrete example from 20 years ago when I quit junk food (and related). On my way back home from university there was a fast food restaurant. I would think of its servings even when it was closed, which is how I noticed the aforementioned situational memory. So I decided to circumvent it. Instead of taking the short and direct way that connected my apartment to the campus, I would go on a big detour. This was beneficial for me, anyway, as I walked more and got to explore the area, but it also helped me uproot the yearning. I was then free from the desire and could pass in front of the restaurant without feeling the pull it once had on me.

There is some level of required discipline to do this on your own. The more disciplined you are, the easier it is to commit to a course of action and sustain it long-term. Otherwise, you have to create arrangements that reinforce your new direction. For example, if it is a social activity then you have other people keeping you engaged (and thus away from what you do not want to do). If it is food you are making, then make sure it is the kind of meal that demands your attention, as opposed to baking something for 2 hours. I will not belabour the point with examples. I do not know the exact situation you are describing in abstract terms, though I am confident you can figure out the details once you notice the dynamics.

Finally, about the study of philosophy. I am, of course, fine with that. Though I consider it a trap to commit to the self-invigorating cycle of reading and thinking. The reason is that it represents a turn inward from which it is difficult to escape and which will eventually inhibit your decision-making. In sustained inwardness you will only find mental illness. Learn, instead, to maintain a balance between intellectual matters and physical activity. Do not live in your head. To live in your head sometimes is enriching. To live in your head the whole time is a death sentence.

Going off of my recollection of the talk, we covered at length the broad theme of rhythm using everyday examples. There are ups and downs to what we do, moments of intensity and of rest. We must be aware of them so that we do not try to push ourselves to unsustainable extremes. We do this, for example, when we do not check our feelings from time to time and instead keep overworking ourselves.

It is important at all times to be mindful of the distinction between descriptive and prescriptive statements. It is easy to fall in the trap of feeling guilty for our state of affairs, even when that is not clearly justified. For example, “I procrastinate” usually comes with a tscit judgement call along the lines of “and this is bad”. The prescription, then, is “do not procrastinate”. Whereas I point out that it helps to be descriptive and to suspend prior judgement. Using procrastination as an example, we may be doing it as an effective way to cope with an otherwise difficult situation.

Another topic was about loss or death in the literal as well as the figurative sense. We discussed the relevant topics in light of how things flow and how something changes into something else. In the case of physical loss, such as a loved one that is no longer with us, there is a sense in which they stay around as a guiding star or guardian angel. This happens because we remember their deeds and underlying values, the philosophy embedded in their actions, which we try to replicate. There is another aspect to loss and death which is about how we change as we go and how we adapt as we go.

Part of what I do is serious at some level. Though I comment on how I approach it with a sense of lightheartedness and humour. I am easygoing. My style at all times is to do something, not to merely talk about it, so I exhibit as much through timely jokes and moments of laughter. Understanding that each person is not one-sided is essential. I can be profound, but I have the deep-seated confidence in my abilities to also joke around because I know that my remarks will not lose their value in the process.

In our social affairs we have to conform with the expectations of other people. It is thus critical to do what we must in order to survive. Though we have to remember that this is a role-playing game, so that we do not overdo it. Setting boundaries is key in this regard. I suggest that we treat certain things as sacrosanct, so that we give them the value they require. Doing so allows us to maintain a sustainable rhythm.

Towards the end of the video, Amin asks me about my approach to philosophy, which is about doing instead of merely reading or thinking. I describe it as “situational awareness”. The world is consistent, so if we have a deep understanding of a part of it, we can apply those findings to other areas. This is something I do throughout our talk by drawing connections between the various topics.

Thanks to Amin for this discussion! I had a good time.

The hours are shorter when you have no idle moments. I have not had the chance to write much because I am preoccupied with time-sensitive tasks around my land on top of everything I do on the computer. I was scheduled to have a video call in ~30 minutes but it got rescheduled, so I am finding the opportunity to write this note.

Spring is the time of the year to plant vegetables and prepare everything for the coming summer. Irrigation must be reliable and the land should be clear of anything that cannot be controlled. Tall grass represents a threat in two ways: (i) potentially venomous snakes may take cover in it and (ii) once it gets dry it is a fire hazard.

A design choice for my land is to not pave anything that is not essential. There is the foundation of my house, made out of concrete, a one metre buffer around my house consisting of the extension of that same concrete, and everything else is just soil with vegetation. The cost for this arrangement is maintenance work to keep the wilderness in check.

Controlling the grass is a time-consuming endeavour because it is a manual process. I choose not to uproot it and am against the use of chemicals for such a task. I carefully remove only what represents some kind of danger to my continued presence here. The rest I control and take care of.

Doing it carefully is important to spot new plants that take form. This morning I discovered several more blackthorn offshots while I was in the process of transplanting a few aromatic roses. They are less than ten centimetres tall right now, though they will quickly gain height. I will not be surprised if they even start bearing fruit in the summer of 2027.

Many of my roses will blossom soon. They look beautiful while their aroma makes me feel comfortable. I transplant them at the edges of my land to form a perimeter. I enjoy the aesthetics while I also do it for practical reasons. Plants keep the soil together.

Having the roots in the ground is among the best forms of insurance one can get against soil erosion. This is true for the most hunble blade of grade to the most imposing oak tree. Without plants, the soil is dispersed easily.

Many farmers here will blithely cut down or poison everything, only to say “god help us” when they get a heavily rainy season, such as the past winter, which washes away parts of their land. I do not share their outlook and feel nothing for their plight.

The mountain has its own logic. It answers no prayers. You cannot do whatever you desire. It is better to think of it as an organism in its own right, even though this may sound like mumbo jumbo to you. The shape of the land itself creates certain conditions you must be aware of, such as for the flow of rainwater and the direction of the strongest winds. Where plants grow and what sort of conditions does their growth create to the soil, to the presence of insects and birds. These are all factors that are there. They form the situation you must be aware of. You may choose to ignore them, but that does not make them irrelevant.

Thus while god may one day answer your calls, continue doing what you must, deliberately and decisively. Have forethought, understand the mechanics of the system you are a part of, and conduct yourself in a manner that respects, but does not fear, the greater magnitudes of this world.

A trap many philosophers fall into is that of seeking the abstract among the abstractions, while losing sight of the here-and-now of their quotidian experience. The human condition is such where our body imposes certain inescapable patterns of behaviour, while our mind retains the capacity to fathom that which is transcendent. The key is to find a balance, else we suffer.

I find that the notion of an abstract god is ultimately unhelpful as such. Not because the idea is not worthwhile, but merely owning to the fact that abstractions are necessarily not concrete. There must be narratives that have immediate utility in what we do everyday. It helps little, if at all, to pray to some deity in the heavens while you do not recognise anything greater than you in your immediate surroundings. The absence of an intermediate life form between humanity and divinity easily devolves into a rudderless mode of living. Even when that is couched in terms of ceremonial theism, of talking to your priest and attending the liturgy, it remains inherently atheistic in its day-by-day expression.

To picture the mountain, the sea, the forest, the earth at-large as intermediate mountain-god, sea-god, forest-god, earth-god is not to deny the possibility of that which is absolute, for there is a common in the multitude of all that is—the mind inevitably discerns those patterns in the cosmos. Think of what envelops, nourishes, and outlives you as greater than you. It is a recognition of how things are in our world, but also a means of keeping yourself in check, specifically by not mistaking your ego as the master of this world and the centre around which everything revolves.

I am here, not in the heavens. My condition demands that I have situational awareness in order to thrive. When I admit that I am not the most superior life form on this planet, for example, I account for what my environment renders viable. I “respect” the rain-god, for instance, by taking care of my land so that it is resilient and robust to the forces of erosion. When I cut down the tall grass, I “worship” the fire-god by acknowledging how easy it is to suffer irreparable damage from wildfires. And so on.

I refer to them as “gods” in an artistic way. This is a metaphor,a figment of the imagination, which helps me describe in a few words a complex system whose workings can both benefit and harm me. It is my responsibility to find what is benign by remaining alert, asking questions, and seeking knowledge.

This “respect” or “worship” is not symbolic. It is neither expressed through nor exhausted in rituals. There are no special garments I must wear or certain words I have to chant. There are no intermediaries of any sort; no hierophants who reveal mysteries to the initiates. It is all about a life of readiness, a life of determination, a life of unflinching resolve to do what is necessary. There is an immediate feedback loop between my deeds and their consequences, which I find invigorating. The outcomes keep me honest to my word, while they serve as a reminder of the limits as well as the potential my power has.

Against this backdrop, I continue labouring with the same enthusiasm I had in the beginning. Which now inspires me to write this poem:

The echo of my steel

Where aromatic rose
and blackthorn shrub
spring from shared soil
you find what you seek
once you realise
that the mountain-god
heeds my prayer
as the echo
of my steel

Twenty minutes to midnight. I am back from the nightly hike. As always, I have my four dogs for company. Hoot… Hoot… Hoot… The owl is nearby. It is here to hunt and kill for its survival. There is no point in arguing whether this is right or wrong. Those are narrow categories that apply to a subset of human affairs. The owl simply acts. Even though there is some variability to its behaviour, it is framed by an overarching constraint that it cannot modify. To be a bird of prey is the predicament its nature makes unavoidable.

The same is true for human volition. Whatever manoeuvring space is available is ultimately delineated by a prior condition that the individual cannot escape from. Like the birds of prey, human has to kill in order to live; kill at all times. Whether this is meat or vegetables is secondary to the fact that some form of life has to be consumed.

For the cosmos as a whole, there is no loss. These are the workings of transfiguration. The same star dust continues to shape-shift, sometimes as a galaxy, at others as a puppy. What comes goes, only to come again. A circular motion that does not repeat itself in exact copies. An everlasting helix.

A dog with sufficient size, strength, and drive, such as any of my dogs, will attack and eliminate cats. Not out of hunger, but to preemptively reduce the number of competitors. It does not matter that I am the guarantor of food. They are still hardwired to treat “others” with extreme prejudice.

Plants are no different. It is only after I clearer the bramble from most of my land, and kept the space open, that almond trees and blackthorns, among others, started to grow. Some forms of vegetable life cooperate with each other, while others compete for land, water, air, and sunshine.

Everywhere I look, I find tension and release, attraction and repulsion, friendship and enmity, leadership and subservience. All nested towards infinity. None of this is specific to human beings. Yet many think they are above the rest. They fancy themselves are purely spiritual beings who occupy some higher moral ground when, in reality, we are all governed by the same forces that non even the sun can defy.

Our world, the small milieu of human affairs, is heading full speed towards a planet-wide conflagration. The Europeans are shifting to a militarised economy as they remain committed to their forever war against Russia. The Japanese are casting aside whatever nominal pacifism they were once committed to in their renewed ambition to control larger parts of east Asia while providing an antipode to the Chinese. China will eventually transmogrify into what Westerners think it already is. And so on.

It is understandable why we want to find someone to blame for all this. A person or group has to be responsible and there must be some grand plan behind it all. We cannot accept that we have no control over the framework we operate in. Even in our darkest hours, we search for a good story with unlikely heroes and shady characters. Whether it is the imperialists, the globalists, the nationalists, the militarists, the fundamentalists, the Zionists, the Jihadis, and more, each adds a layer of explanatory narrative on top of processes that are decisively beyond their reach.

Humans are compelled into action by powerful drives they cannot opt out of. To survive, which entails cooperation and competition. Instrumental are the forces that lead humans to pursue conquest, glory, and domination. Even the otherwise innocuous outlook of the explorer, be it in physical or mental space, bestows some kind of advantage vis-à-vis one’s competition; an advantage that can be exploited when necessary. Necessity guides us.

Even when there is no warfare, society at-large experiences the incessant transfiguration that creates some and annihilates others. From employment to unemployment, success to failure, enrichment to impoverishment. It flows, it comes, it goes. A macro view of history exposes the same patterns, of shifting political geographies, of alliances that evolve, of enemies that become friends before squabbling again, of intellectuals who believe they learn from the past as they boldly move ever closer to some supposed enlightenment only to repeat the mistakes of their predecessors.

There is no rest. No form of life stays in place. An individual person, which in actuality is a system of systems, also changes continuously: eating, moving, sleeping, ageing… The entropy of our entire reality is the precondition for its configuration anew. It does not come from nothing and will not go towards nothing. It simply is.

Yet I cannot help but recognise my emotions. I feel disappointed that we cannot rely on our common sense to manage our affairs. It is not “common”, alas! The distribution of character traits and talents is such. Some have a more pronounced rational side. Others are led by emotion. There is no right or wrong, no better or worse. This may even be the optimal arrangement if we think of it in terms of economising resources at scale: have few that are inventors and pioneers, and let the many be capable of replicating the results. An expensive computation, which amounts to some discovery, need only be performed once before it is reproduced much more cheaply through imitation.

I learnt how to program, for example. I merely follow in the footsteps of others who had to do all the hard work of inventing the relevant paradigms and clearing the path as it were. If so, I cannot bemoan the distribution of skills among our kind. It ultimately is what defines life as we experience it, both for the parts we cherish and those we loath.

Some will try to remake people in a certain image, such as through indoctrination, religious absolutism, or even eugenics and designer babies. This is the exploratory part, underpinned by the want for safety. The uniform or the homogeneous is that which can be predicted and, thus, that which can be measured and guarded against. Yet the explorer is at odds with the underlying motivation to find a totalising integrating force. They need sufficient openendedness to make excursions that others have not even fathomed.

Perhaps we can have different types of people with a distribution unlike what we are used to. It might even be viable. Though it may also reveal to those daring souls that they did not know what they were wishing for.

Who is to blame? Nobody. Every form of life does that which its condition renderes inescapable.

Another productive Monday comes to an end. The days are getting warmer. Nights continue to be cold though. I spent most of the morning hours doing manual labour on my land. I prepared some raised garden beds and planted tomatoes. In the coming days I will do the same for zucchinis, onions, garlic, peppers, and lettuce. Having my own vegetables saves me some of the cost for groceries. The other day a kilo of tomatoes sold for ~6 EUR. These are extortionate prices—and the most chilling effects of the financial crunch have not even hit us yet!

In the 2010s I was working and studying. This in itself is an experience that many in the West cannot relate to: they fancy the student life as a time of prolonged parties. Mine was limited to work, home, and school. Those days the economy was mired in recession. There was uncertainty about the very foundations of the euro area. The powers that be were implementing policies that redistributed wealth upward. Those were presented with euphemisms, moralistic palaver, and obscurantist jargon such as “austerity”, “haircut”, “outright monetary transactions”, “longer-term refinancing operations”, “quantitative easing”… Apparatchiks are experts at spinning a monumental cash grab as heavenly grace.

I had to count cents to the euro to buy a loaf of bread. It was not fun. I managed though. Perhaps I was lucky enough to grow up without access to a cornucopia of comforts. Me and people in my community were raised in a world of few opportunities. Oftentimes we did not have a football to play with. Our games would involve some plastic bottle that we would fill up with stones and kick around until exhaustion.

Many of the kids I knew and was friends with found smoking at around age ten, then discovered weed, and eventually the harder substances. They ended up becoming drug addicts in their teenage years. Perhaps the grinding austerity was too much for them. Or they thought there was an easier path forward. They were seeking a way out. I cannot blame them. Some of them died. Others turned mad. This effectively is the road of no return in a country that is woefully underfunded, understaffed, and underequipped in this and many other areas.

I have not done enough soul-searching on this front. Maybe one of the reasons I have not revisited my homeland in twenty years is because I do not want to get a status update. It was not pretty then when there was no financial downturn being reported in the news. I shudder to think how bad the reality on the ground would be in the Greek milieu post 2008. Economic data may show growth, though this is driven by the sellout of the country’s resources to foreigners. The average person there is on an inexorable path to serfdom and immiseration.

What I have learnt in the process is to have dignity and self-respect. I set the highest standard for myself and make no discounts or exceptions to it. Part of that is a defence mechanism, to prevent others from finding reasons to put the blame on me. If, for example, I was lazy people would quickly attribute my financial woes on my laziness. At least now they have to think twice when they notice the sheer amount of work I do.

The first lecture I got as an adult on the topic of discipline and “real men” was when I remarked how it is not right that we are living in such a lopsided political order. The other guy who got all the riches from daddy went on a monologue about how real men do not complain like pussies and how they are gritty. He did not know anything about me. He was just in the business of virtue signalling. This is the precinct of the smartass who talks big without backing it up with deeds. They will judge you even though they know nothing about your life. And when you challenge them, they will take the easy way out by claiming that “these are the standards, but I am working on it”. Sure!

The smartass exists in every field of endeavour and represents every school of thought. On the topic of “real men” and their putative innate virtues, some of the most disciplined people I have ever met are women. You do not need a penis to be self-motivated and keep things in order. It is common for guys who are not insecure about their manhood to admit that their girlfriend/wife helped them become a better person in some ways.

Where the smartass is found in high numbers is in domains that have a strong moral component. Religion is one of them, as are political ideologies. They find the central elements of the creed and then go around telling everyone how they should live. Consider, for example, the activism in favour of Palestine. It is easy to tweet “Free Palestine 🇵🇸” and carry on with your life. Then you may get emboldened to go on the offensive and tell someone like me, who has not been vociferous about the topic, how I need to be mobilised and such. To which I ask: if you are so passionate about your cause, what are you sacrificing for it? Will you go fight on the front lines? Will you join the red cross/crescent? Will you give up your vacation and other perks of your lifestyle to send aid to the refugees? Tweeting and being obnoxious about it is trivial. The part where you live up to your own standard is when things get real.

To be clear: I do not mind if someone is posting something online. I do not check their thoughts and am not interested in their conduct. But if they are posting it and are trying to push me around because of it, then I will push back.

I got plenty of comments for the entries I published recently that cover Easter, among others:

• There goes another Easter (2026-04-11)
• Lunch without alcohol (2026-04-12)

My commentary is not about the substance of religion. I have nothing against it. If someone felt offended, that was not my intention. I never argue from a position of “my faith is more real than yours”. I do not appeal to any authority. And, above all, I do not claim to be a moral person. If I happen to be doing the right thing, that will be the product of my actions, not my words.

All I do, when others try to incorporate me in their programme, is apply the standard that they profess to live by on to their own deeds. In effect, I present them with a mirror. If you tell me how we ought to be doing this and that, while demanding that I conform to your exhortations, then I expect you to be leading by example.

I do not consume porngraphy, for instance. Its widespread usage is a common secret. I do not walk around telling everyone how they should live their life and what to do on their computing device. I have a strict diet and, again, I do not pressure others to eat this or that. I do not gamble, yet said nothing to those who organised gambling sessions in the square overlooking their church. There is no need to belabour this point: I leave others alone and demand the same treatment.

Every person is on their own path. If they ever need help, I am happy to support them if I can. What I will not do, however, is punch down and kiss up in pursuit of social points and to boost my ego.

The treatment I receive is not the same though, so I will not pretend to not notice. Easter is the period of peak virtue signalling among believers. I am merely describing what I am exposed to, not the articles of faith as such.

The other day I was walking back home, moving in a direction away from the nearest church close to the hour of the liturgy. A fellow in a luxury car who was driving towards the church stopped and asked in shock: “are you not attending the liturgy!?”. I did not even know who this person was. I replied negatively, adding that I had essential work to do. Without even considering the “why” I work every day without ever going on a vacation, this person went on to explain how important those pious days are, why we should praise the Lord, how I can be a better person myself, blah, blah, blah. As if I grew up on Mars and know nothing about what people believe in.

If God is all-knowing, then He knows my predicament. And if He is omnipotent, He does not need this zealot to force me into conformity. I remain calm. Such a character does not represent any cause. Theirs is an inconsiderate exposition that is meant to make them look good relative to another person. I do not compete with anyone and do not care what they do with their life. I said “okay, bye”. The problem, however, is that this is not an isolated event. The pressure is to be “good” on the outside for a few days and then you can go on and secretly indulge in everything you consider inappropriate. Why? Focus on yourself, embed in your everyday conduct what you believe is divine, and leave me alone.

To me, religion is not limited to a corpus of propositions. That is a reductive exercise that takes away from the interpersonal dynamics at play. Religion is a web of lived social experiences. I do not see the point of the argument that such and such historical source contradicts what people are actually doing. I care about the effective religiosity, not the one in the books. The prescribed one is not pertinent to what I am observing. I am commenting on phenomena as they unfold, not on some ideal world or, indeed, the substantive points of the precepts.

From time to time I get prompts about studying this or that material. Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, but also secular thinkers. I am curious to learn more. Though buying books is a luxury in itself while I have more pressing issues to deal with, but that is beside the point. The gist is that I am not the target audience at this point in my life. I never asked for salvation. I did not express existential angst that needs to be addressed. I do not claim to be religious or particularly spiritual: I do not pray, I do not do yoga, I do not practice mindfulness meditation… I have not even said that I am a good person. I probably am not good in sense you imagine because I have many times before broken a bully and will do it again if I must.

As I write these final words, I hear the owl nearby. It makes that familiar vocalisation. This is the large variety. It is a bit smaller than the eagle: a mighty bird of prey in its own right. I find it nice to pay attention to my immediate environment. Earlier I spotted another almond tree offshoot as well as the first signs of what appears to be jasmine. Life forms all around me are in continuous motion. Tomorrow I have another day full of activities. I will commit to them to the best of my ability, with no tricks and no gimmicks.

On Sundays it is common for people here to prepare souvla (barbecued meat on a long skewer), if the weather is good enough. Other dishes are also available, so there is something for everyone. Though meat is the main serving. Winter in the mountains is usually too cold or rainy for souvla. But the other months provide ample opportunities.

Today was one such day. I was invited to attend a lunch not too far from my house. Nominally, it was about celebrating Easter. Though in practice we were all there for the food and the companionship. Few ever bring up religious topics on such occasions.

There were lots of people present, all of which I have met before in other gatherings. Last time I was there all the people around me consumed vast quantities of alcohol. Beer, wine, zivania, and whiskey. I abstain from alcohol, though I never tell anyone in person why. When somebody asks if I want some, I simply respond with something like “no, I quit long ago—thank you!”.

What helps my case is that the tone of my voice and body language communicate an unequivocal view. This is basically the opposite of how a shy person responds, where they say one thing while they invite others to tease out something else.

People are respectful when you draw clear boundaries. Those who are not qualify as bullies, which you can then deal with more forcefully. That I do with alacrity. But in the vast majority of cases everybody means well.

When someone appears pushy yet has no obvious bad intention, it is because they get mixed signals from you. They will nudge you to answer affirmatively, perhaps by appealing to your sense of camaraderie: “here, have a shot in the name of our newfound friendship”. And if you do not know how to respond firmly, you will eventually yield, thus positively reinforcing the original push.

I do not talk about my life choices. I am not interested in converting anyone to my views and the manner of my living. Why I abstain from alcohol is my own business: in short, I prioritise longer-term health over scoring meaningless points at the lunch table. Plus, I am perfectly sociable without pampers. If others choose to consume it, I respect their choices. I was a bartender for many years, after all.

The table today had all the usual offerings of alcoholic beverage. There were bottles of wine, cans of beer, a freezer packed with zivania, and plenty of ice cubes for those who wanted to blend whiskey with cola. Some folks who were sitting further away from me were drinking as usual. Though those around me chose to abstain for once. Someone remarked that “we are already having a good time, we do not need the drinks”. I nodded without saying a word.

My lifestyle can be summed up as “do, not tell” or, better, “master it first, teach it afterwards”.. If I believe in something, I embed it in my activities. And if it is benign, then I am the embodiment of its efficacy. I do not need to preach what is obvious. Others will notice the effects and try the same. And if they do not discern the pattern, then they are not ready for it, anyway. I find talk that is devoid of action to be disempowering. It inevitably devolves into a vicious cycle of overthinking and attendant restlessness.

There are no deep conversations at such gatherings. Topics range from political commentary, to one’s adventures at the hunt, to matters of farming, to some construction work that is being planned. Whatever lacunae are filled in by blanket generalisations. You learn to not take anything seriously. It is innocuous chit-chat. Its function is to strengthen the sense of trust among those present. Anyone who has a strong urge to be pedantic will suffer at such an event.

Even though I am on good terms with everyone here, I do not have any friends. Nobody knows exactly what my interests are and how much in-depth I am willing to go in any given exchange. They have a vague sense of what I do, but are otherwise not curious to learn more. I have long accepted that my interests lead me down the path of loneliness. It is virtually impossible to meet like-minded people in a sparsely populated region. This is partly why I spend more time hiking than mingling with the locals.

I am also dismayed to observe, time and again, that the local communities are dying of old age. There are no young people here and no prospect of there being any in the foreseeable future. The women I met an aeon ago gave me lectures about baby machines and the familiar talking points. To think of the greatest power of all, to birth a new form of life, in such demeaning terms… I remained silent and left.

Millenials in my part of the world grew up with the promise of the comfortable life, having been fed the tale of inexorably expanding economic prosperity. Well, except those of us who were already poor—we were earmarked for the meat-grinder. When the 2008+ financial crisis hit them, they joined the various Occupy/Indignados movements to announce to the world how angry they were for not getting what they thought was their birthright.

We are still reeling from that crisis. It was, at its core, a dismantling of the underlying value system and the expectations that went along with it. Many of those people never moved on. They were broken and defeated; a “lost generation” as the media was correctly portraying it.

I am a man of action. With severely limited means, yes, but with the attitude to fight until the bitter end. I like to make things happen and get bored when thinking leads to nowhere. In this case, however, I have no solution. Maybe I have not been daring or creative enough in my approach, in which case I shall change my ways and try anew.

The church bells were ringing in the distance. The first explosions echo in the valley. It is almost Easter in this part of the world. In about ten minutes there will be fireworks. I finished a long day’s work and then went for the nightly hike with my dogs. Walking with my canine friends is among my favourite activities.

The season is pleasant in secular terms. We are at the tail end of winter in the mountains. It is still cold during daytime, though it starts to get sunnier. The last heavy rainfall was on Thursday. Another is expected next week, as days become more dry. Flowers are popping up everywhere, while the grass reaches its maximum height at about half a metre tall. Most trees need a few more weeks to blossom. The oak trees take their turn fairly late at around May.

In religious terms, however, we are asked to go through induced grief. All around us there is life yet our mental state revolves around death. The week of Easter is about pretending to suffer along with Jesus. “Pretending” is the operative term. If you are actually suffering, you do not have to wait for this time of the year to go through the torment. And, conversely, if you are not suffering, then you likely have the luxury to put on a show.

Unlike Christmas, Easter has always had a more religious undertone in my experience. Christmas is practically not a religious period. There is the myth of the flying grandpa who brings gifts galore, trolls that seek to cut down the tree of life only to be lured away from their mischief by treats, and children going around the neighbourhood singing songs in exchange for pocket money. In short, it is whimsical and fun. I love it!

As for the religious story, it essentially is about a child being born. Every stable family considers that a gift from the heavens. Theodoros and all such variations (Diodoros, Diogenis, Herodotos, Apollodoros, etc.) are ancient names, after all, describing the newborn as a gift from a certain deity or the divine at-large. This goes back millennia. We do not need to search much further than the gratitude of the parents to appreciate the symbolism of baby Jesus.

By comparison, Easter is the reign of darkness. The social pressure to behave in certain ways is much more pronounced. It starts fourty days in advance and culminates on this day. There is increased church-going or, at least, exhortations to that effect, and the emphasis is on doctrine. There exists the Easter bunny and such lighthearted elements but their role is marginal. The focus is on propriety and the correctness of the creed.

It must be nice to be part of a group. To not push back and simply go with the rest. You always have friends and attend all the parties. I cannot be that person. I tried it once and it almost broke me. Part of my personality is to not give in to social pressure. If I do not feel a certain way, and if the matter affects me personally, I will not do it solely to please others.

Fundamentally, nobody has control over me. This goes back to when I was a child, though a more poignant example comes from my teenage years. All my friends and virtually every boy my age was a smoker. I did not try it once. Not even out of curiosity. My mates never attempted to pressure me into smoking because they knew it was a lost cause.

I am the same with the performative aspects of religiosity. I will not pretend to feel pain when I am not. I cannot act like I am suffering when I am feeling as energetic as ever. And, more importantly, I do not check the calendar to decide when to do what I consider right: I just do it without exceptions.

I am, nevertheless, considerate enough to not argue for the sake of arguing. Intellectual matters require a level of commitment to the topic that the vast majority of people do not have. For those cases, I remain silent, wish everybody all the best, and mind my business.

My attention is on the here-and-now. The temperatures will rise next week before dropping back to normal for the foreseeable future. I have lots of plans for my land and am confident that my hard work will be fruitful. The only pain I feel is the one I bring unto myself by committing many hours of my day to manual labour. I find it empowering to witness the compounding effects of my industry; to know that I can rely on the infrastructure I have set up and to continuously build on top of what I already did.

I have done so much already and am eager to continue with the same intensity. However, the rapidly deteriorating economic situation has hindered my house-related initiatives. I will not do anything here at least for another year or two. It is a pity, though I must wait for the next opportunity. Such is life. We deal with the circumstances as they evolve. Our duty, in the meantime, is to retain our vitality and be poised to act.

As for Easter, everybody will revert to business as usual within a few hours. We all know it is a shadow play of spirituality, yet find it expedient to act as if something grand is happening.

Another rainy day goes by. This is the first wet winter at the hut. The previous two were quite dry, foreshadowing the droughts that followed for the rest of the year. Last winter was especially harsh in this regard. It led to an extra dry spring and summer, which culminated in the devastating wildfires that affected a large part of the island.

Living here has made me more aware of my surroundings. This is because I tend to my land. Each day I walk around, to casually enjoy the little things but also to update my mental model of what is in my midst. I take note of changes to the environment. A new offshoot appears, grass grows more dense in an area that was once barren, or there are signs of water accumulating at some spot. This is the raw data that allows me to anticipate change and plan accordingly.

For example, soon after I got here I realised that the back side of my land was prone to flooding. The adjacent stream brings an unstoppable torrent of water after each heavy rainfall. I could tell that the risk of me getting hit was remote, but was eager to work towards mitigating the threat. Cutting the long story short, I laboured to redirect the flow of water, such that it does not touch my land at a steep angle. Flooding is practically impossible now.

I recognise that to be here I have to show respect to the forces around me. They have their own mechanisms, which I must discern and align my presence with. When you take matters into your own hands, it is dangerous to be frivolous and absent-minded. Or, to put it differently, you cannot afford to be such unless you are being taken care of.

The world is alive. It is not a mere backdrop to the show I am featuring in. Concepts such as “the environment” are mental shortcuts. If we want to be more accurate, we have to talk about systems of systems within which different forms of life are made manifest. To be aware of my surroundings, then, is another way of describing my continuous study of immanent life.

The more I observe, the better I understand that the cosmos is consistent. I can discern patterns in how the landscape develops over time which ultimately find application to human affairs. The flowing waters, for instance, have made poignant the notion that mountains are being flattened over time. The human lifespan is too short to measure up to such a process, though even within a few years we can appreciate how a tiny bit of mountain is moved by the weather.

I built some stairs out of soil by carving them on the side of the mountain. Within less than three years, they have been smoothed by the succession of sunshine and rainfall. A stepped configuration has turned into a near slide. It shows how continuous exposure can create smoothness, given a certain unit of time. This is not a descriptor that is limited to the soil though. It works equally well for our own experiences.

In everything we do, we are subject to this mechanism. It is neither good nor bad, or it is both good and bad, depending on the specifics of the case. Sometimes, the smoothing out is what makes us more effective at our role. We reduce the friction by removing the sharp edges. At other times, being more smooth means that we have declined: those edges are what gave us our comparative advantage.

It helps to be mindful of this phenomenon. It couches our outlook in terms of dynamism. Instead of treating any given state of affairs as static, we appreciate its potential for change; change that may be gradual yet inexorable insofar as creating conditions that undo the case we started out with. We often refrain from trying something in earnest because we overestimate the staying power of the initial friction. At the other end, we cling on to an arrangement of relationships and routines without realising that our role and its impact have been eroded.

I learn from the land by giving it my undivided attention. It ultimately is how I have developed most of my thoughts about life: be mindful and think things through. People will often ask “which books have you read”. The truth is that I have not read much. From now on I will start responding with “the real issue is how attentively you are observing, how carefully you are listening, and how deeply you are thinking”. Not to imply that books are useless, but that the book count or, indeed, the entries in one’s private library, are not a reliable predictor.

The consistency of the world means that we do not need to explore every corner of it to develop profound insights. A small portion will suffice. I have not seen all of the flowers, for instance. The ones that do grow in my vicinity are beautiful. Appreciating their beauty does not require knowledge of the totality of flowers. I do not have to fathom every possible flower. What I get is enough and I am thankful for it.

Minutes to eleven. Another rainy day comes to a close. I just came back from my nightly hike with the dogs. We walk around the mountains for several hours per day. This is basically paradise for dogs. It is equally benign for me as well. I remain as fit as ever. I always have energy to do what I like. My mental state is stable, my thoughts are clear, my presence focused. The mountains empower me. I forgot how it is to live with perennial stress. Everything is easier when you have a good connection with your environment and your inner world.

There is nothing grand happening. This note describes the present moment, though it also applies to what I was feeling yesterday, and the year before, and, probably what I will experience in the future. Stability sounds boring to someone who is used to trying new things all the time. Though it actually is not. Once you get used to this reality, you develop a finer appreciation of the phenomena. It is a little bit like conditioning yourself to eat unsalted salads: at first it is bland until it eventually becomes a combination of natural flavours that were once obscured by the salt.

I keep treading the same paths. Though I always notice something different. The environment is alive. Every form of life in it is in motion. It is working towards some end. The grass tries to be taller and wider, in order to maximise its exposure to the sun and access to soil plus water. The acorn proceeds towards becoming an oak tree over the course of centuries. Even the land itself is transforming. Every single rainfall takes some hard matter from the higher parts and moves it downstream. Where there was once solid ground one now finds signs of flowing water. In the geological time frame, the earth itself becomes something other than what it was.

I lack the depth of conscience to communicate with the earth the way I do with my dogs or other people. Though I can already sense that it is an organism. I discern the manifestations of life all around me. And I am aware that there are strata of emergence to each phenomenon. What I understand as myself, a unit of human, Protesilaos the one and only, is a system of systems. To describe even a single part of my body, I would need to spend a lifetime studying all the technicalities. I am ignorant about the full extent of knowledge that is embedded in the making of the eye, for example, or the interplay between the brain and the gut. Yet there is a sense in which I know myself. I operate at a certain stratum of emergence. What happens at the strata below or above is not at the centre of my conscious world, although it is a precondition for it.

The reason I am content with the little things is because I have understood that they are actually not insignificant. They are subtle, yes. It is as if they are hiding in plain sight, testing our capacity for mindfulness. Many of the world’s religions promise an escape from this world. I do not resonate with their teachings. I was listening to some monk the other day talk about how suffering is innate to the present experience and how we must not feel moved by what is around us. How so? I feel calm. To be moved is to be, for all presences are in motion. I keep finding reasons to smile: they are all around me.

What I did wish to escape from was the expectation of knowing it all. The idea that there has to be a beginning, middle, and end to this story, and that I should be aware of it. I do not feel entitled to know everything. I do not prey for the universe to conspire in my favour. I do not ask for an opt out clause, some derogation from the rules that govern the mechanics of the system of systems. I love what is and am thankful for what I have for as long as it is beside me on my path.

The gods offer hints but no explanations. We can only work with what we have. Even if they did tell us explicitly, we lack the means to definitively know: are they being truthful or trying to test us? If, for example, Jesus performed all those miracles and got resurrected, those all prove that he did perform these very miracles and did get resurrected. There is nothing in those events, in isolation or in combination, that necessarily proves everything else that Christians claim to know about God: agentic, triadic, benevolent, omniscient, omnipotent, ubiquitous. The leap of faith is unavoidable.

We deal with what is germane to the human condition, recognising that it is an amalgamation of joy and sorrow, of enthusiasm and disappointment, of tension and release. We suffer when we are unable to connect with that which is immanent; that which is so close to us at all times; that which we underestimate, take for granted, or altogether ignore. Giving it a name, telling a story about it, is useful insofar as we do not forget that this is an artistic device. We do it for the fun of it, to have something to talk about with other people, and to contribute to the workings of our social reproduction.

God dies in the naming of god, in the framing of it as only one instead of the multitude and the monad, in the stories we take too seriously as we turn them into inflexible doctrines. God is lost once the dogma we impose on our psyche forbids us from reaching out to the source, to the singing spring whose waters always flow.

When I sense the cold rain on my face, as I close my eyes and turn skyward, I find peace in the knowledge that I am not special in my need for water and air. Just as I require them, so do the plants and other animals all around me. This is not merely about surviving, but feeling the connection with that which envelops and underpins me. From my constitutive subsystems to the supersystems I partake in, there is life ever-lasting, ever-transfiguring.

The rainy days will continue until the first third of April. I do not have someone to tell this to, so I am putting it in the present bottle and tossing it to the sea. Not having all the answers does not bother me. I am like that bottled note, moving wherever the current takes me. That there even is an ocean is astonishing. I cannot fathom the full extent of the factors whose interplay contributes to there being an ocean. Can we even draw clear delineations in the cosmic continuum? Is there an in vitro expression of anything to be studied in isolation from totality?

I will go to bed now. Tomorrow morning I will get the chance to continue with my projects around my house. Well, unless there is heavy rainfall. Every yard here contains hours of my labour. Though no matter how much sweat I spill, I can never make the land an extension of myself. It belongs to me just as it belongs to the grass and the insects below of it. We are all together. Admitting as much keeps things in perspective and makes everything simpler.

Strong cold winds this evening. Apparent temperatures are hovering slightly above zero degrees Celsius. The days remain cloudy. We have gotten plenty of rainfall, with much more to come. It has been an exceptionally dark five months since early November. Once October is over, the days get noticeably shorter until the winter solstice. After that we gain roughly a minute of sunlight each day. Though it does not feel that way until around the spring equinox because winter coincides with the rainy season.

Dark days and brights days are practically the same here. It is not like those busy places where people congregate some square to enjoy the sunshine. I live outside any built-up area. Though, generally, there are few residents in the Cypriot hinterlands. Three of them died recently of old age. Many more will follow soon. Nobody is taking their stead. The local communities are vanishing. I cannot remember the last time I met a local who is younger than me.

I am part of the problem. I do not have a family. Never got the chance. Nor do most of my relatives. Not even any of my friends back in Greece. Were it just me, I would blithely admit to my shortcomings. I do not have a fragile ego, anyway, and have no problem acknowledging that I am a loser. Such is the world. Not all can be winners. I am sure I could be doing things differently and trying to be an even better version of myself. Though I refuse to accept that everyone I know well is just defective. There are systemic issues at play.

The economic situation is the obvious explanation, though I find it wanting. The generations of my grandparents and their grandparents had 5+ children each. They were dirt pour, dealt with wars at home, while they had to work long hours for every sort of activity we now take for granted. Try to wash the clothes by hand, for example. Make your own bread for the family. Prepare sausages, cheese, pickles, jams, et cetera to understand how it is to not throw anything away. Carry the harvest with the donkeys under the beating sun. Work the fields with limited equipment while it is raining. Mend your shoes and patch your own clothes, as you will not get new ones. And so on. Every task was labour intensive and punishing. Their diet was strictly seasonal. They would eat whatever was available at the given time of the year. They could not afford to be picky: a life of austerity beats any capricious wants out of you.

Their communities were thriving though. There was vitality all around. The village closest to my house used to have a few thousand residents only a few decades ago. Most of them were young. Today there are only tens of them registered with the local authorities and none of them is brimming with zest. Nobody is curious to learn something new or try new experiences. Although they are still around, they have effectively checked out, waiting for their inevitable demise.

There is a trend among men to blame women for this state of affairs. I do not share that worldview, even though I acknowledge the excesses of toxic expressions of feminism. To me, what we are experiencing is a crisis of values; a crisis of perspective. We have forgotten how to make sacrifices. We have been conditioned by a brief period of relative affluence and its attendant technological arrangements to operate like children, as we demand immediate gratification in increasingly more areas of life. This is the era of the person who ages without growing mentally: the manchild or womanchild, else the adultchild.

Fundamentally, our culture has lost respect, indeed awareness, for magnitudes beyond one’s ego. The individual’s outlook is self-centred and self-aggrandising: to get what one desires instantly and in quantities that cannot possibly be exhausted, to prioritise one’s wants above everything else, and to treat personal feelings as the ironclad truth that the world must not assail.

From art to food, everything we experience as a stimulus is optimised to keep us hooked. There is no more watching a movie: you binge watch an entire series. You do not read the news, you doomscroll in search for the next ragebait or lewd material. What we eat is turbocharged in being salty, creamy, greasy, sugary, spicy, often most of those at once. Fine art is abandoning its finesse and subtlety in pursuit of intense colours and sharp sounds. Perhaps the want for gore is a matter of necessity to catch the attention of those whose baseline of stimulation is intensity as such.

This is a crisis of character. It cannot be addressed with a mere edict from the government. People need to change their ways to rediscover what always worked reasonably well. At the heart of such a pivot to sustainability is sacrifice. To give up something you want dearly. Sacrifice need not be bloody or, indeed, all that costly. It can consist of virtually inconsequential rituals and practices that introduce delayed gratification in everyday life. The goal is to depose the child within from the throne it should never be occupying. In other words, to train oneself to seek ever fewer of those easy-to-get-easy-to-lose rushes of excitement.

Thinking back to my grandparents, they knew how to incorporate sacrifice in their quotidian affairs. It empowered them to be patient throughout and to gracefully adapt to all the hardships. One ritual my grandmother, the matriarch of the family, would observe involved the slicing of the New Year’s cake. While everyone, including little boy me, was sitting at the table without making any noise, she would slowly create pieces out of the delicacy. Child me wanted the first piece and was being impatient. Grandma told me to remain silent and show respect. “The first piece belongs to God”, she said. “The second piece is for Jesus and the third for the Holy Spirit”. Then came all the relatives who were not with us and only then would we be assigned to a small piece of the cake.

Those two minutes of waiting were enough to teach me a valuable lesson for life. I could overcome my immediate urge to devour the dish. I had control over my self. I would do it for the common good. To recognise that there are others at the table who are also waiting patiently to be served. To further realise that I must extend my respect to potential participants, the relatives who were not present, and then the divine at-large. This was not a religious ceremony. My grandparents were secular people who held an amalgamation of beliefs drawing from the Greek religion, from Christianity, astrology, and all sorts of magic. Yet their routines were underpinned by wisdom, the kind of spirituality that one develops by dealing with the world, not by trying to escape from it.

Same principle for when I would ask my grandfather for a new toy. We would walk past a store and something flashy would capture my childish attention. Grandpa would calmly respond “sure, my child, I will buy it for you”, then he would pause for a second, “I will buy it on your birthday”. I knew that my birthday was months away and would protest. He taught me to wait and to measure my options. “A promise is a promise”, he pointed out. Ultimately, I learnt to know what I want, instead of falling for tricks and gimmicks. And I also developed the same attitude of treating my word as sacrosanct, which is why I do not talk big. When I state something, it is because I do it.

Those sacrifices were always small in scale. They did not constitute any kind of devastating loss. That cake was all ours in the end. We just had to go through that initial ritual. I now am at a point where I appreciate that dedicating the first pieces to the gods is of paramount importance. Not because the divine needs anything from us. No. Not even because I necessarily believe in it the way major religions preach. Again, no. God exists only when we act as if God exists. This is because the divine inspires us to pursue our highest as we think of the bigger picture. As such, our deeds will be of a better sort, to the extent possible. And, conversely, God does not exist when we behave as if God does not exist. For it is then that our affairs are defined by that which is most pernicious.

This is not a matter of religiosity. There are plenty of believers I have met who operate without respect for others or, indeed, themselves. Theirs is a godless modus operandi, in the aforementioned sense. It is religion in its tokenistic manifestation. Nothing but a series of rites without substance; idolatry in essence. Respect is towards all. It is inward and outward. And there are no exceptions to it: it happens at home, in the workplace, the temple, and the great outdoors. In short, it consists in recognising that there is a whole world out there that does not revolved around one’s volition.

Perhaps the most pernicious, albeit well-meaning, claim in the mainstream is how “God loves you the way you are”. While there is a kernel of hope there, it teaches us to be complacent, to indulge in our voracious wants, and then to maintain a transactional relationship with the cosmos. All because of how special and entitled we think we are.

In my world, the gods love nobody because they tend to the wellness of all. Theirs is a cosmic reach. There can be no exception therein, no special treatments, no shortcuts for the royalty, the parvenu middle class, and the modest workers. All are exposed to the vicissitudes that bring joy and grief. And all have to deal with the consequences of actions, whether it is their own or those of people in their milieu. There is no escape from the consequences, no matter how valuable you think you are, sweetheart.

As such, we have to persevere through the troubles and take what comes our way with grace. Only when we rediscover the spirit of sacrifice and its concomitant grit, will we start seeing vibrant communities again. Else we are moving towards our collective death. This is how nature gets rid of unsustainable arrangements, after all.

In the era of the adultchild, I am reminded of the Greek concept of «φυγοπονία» (feegoponia or feegopony), which literally means “flight from pain/hardship”. Feegopony is the defining quality of the adultchild and the midpoint of the modern society. It is up to each of us to put forward the best version of ourselves, to pursue excellence, and to do it with integrity. Maybe then we will remember how to appreciate the little things.

But I have no hope of this happening anytime soon. The mountains are being deserted because the adultchildren cannot tolerate the living conditions here. They have it all, yet complain about how much they are suffering. This is too cold, that is too dark, the other is too difficult, and so on. We get what we deserve. It saddens me to know that such an avoidable calamity seems inevitable.

Local time is 23:00. I spent a combined total of five hours today doing manual labour by the stream. Half of that was in the morning and the remainder early in the afternoon, with a meal and then some computer work in between and afterwards.

What I am doing outdoors these days is reinforcing my already robust flood-control infrastructure. This has been an especially rainy winter, coming off the back of two years of drought. As expected, soil erosion occurs everywhere. I see it in the flowing waters downstream at the base of the valley where I live: the waters are muddy and carry with them gravel.

I collect all the coarse earth I can find. From gravel to small stones and even large rocks that I can barely lift off the ground. Everything is useful to me. Wherever there is a slippery spot in my land, I apply gravel on top to improve traction. Depending on the specifics, I will even make small holes to place stones in and then add soil on top. In effect, I am making parts of the surface harder. Rocks are useful to stairs and to reinforce all the edge from where water could flow.

The idea is to have soft terrain everywhere that I plant vegetables and solid ground on all the pathways as well as the perimeter. Part of this is my commitment to not fill the place up with concrete or make it look like the walled garden of some mansion. I want it to remain natural, even though it clearly is a largely controlled environment.

There is no pressing reason to do all of this project now. I could wait for the rainy days to pass and commit to it during the summer. Though this is not how I operate. My principle is to not postpone things. If I can do something, I do it. When I say something, it is the law. There are no excuses. In the summer there will be something else to do or, maybe, I will just want to sunbathe and enjoy my day.

Maintaining projects long-term requires a certain level of enthusiasm. You have to enjoy what you are doing. I wake up every morning with the same zeal to carry out what I have committed to. I like that I have an impact on my immediate environment and that I experience the feedback loop between my actions and their consequences.

By discerning the results of my deeds, I have a better appreciation of my power as well as its limitations. I am powerful, in the sense of having the means to make certain things happen. Though I understand I am not omnipotent. Everything requires a considerable amount of physically taxing work. Those five hours today are barely noticeable in terms of changes to the surroundings. There is a little bit here and a little bit there. Nothing fancy.

Because I have been doing such work for long enough, I can estimate how many workhours some initiative will take. I do not feel the pressure to quit abruptly, as I never get frustrated with my progress. I also do not set lofty targets: whatever I commit to will be done when it is ready. The process is organic. If I need to stop, I do it without feeling guilty about it. Though, generally, I work for long hours. The point is that I do not turn myself into a servant of my own standards. I remain in control, since I interpret my rules mindfully. If the circumstances demand that I suspend their application, I do it without hesitation. Otherwise, I would be reckless.

The immediate feedback loop of what I do informs my situational awareness. I know what kind of initiative is viable and what is impractical. I have an intuitive understanding of the economics of my time. I will intentionally settle for a makeshift solution, if it buys me enough time to collect money in pursuit of an improved arrangement. Or, simply, if it allows me to prioritise another task in the meantime. I do not expect perfection, because I am aware of my limited resources. I love the little things, the nuances, those details that are otherwise easy to miss. I do not need much to feel happy.

People sometimes tell me something along the lines of “I like your life there and wish I could do the same”. It is one of those cases where the adage “be careful what you wish for” applies fully. What most fellas usually mean is that they would like to retain the life they have and combine it with the serenity of a rural setting. This is not how it is in my world though.

My life is one of austerity. Only a small part of that is my choice. There are inherent constraints to a life in a sparsely populated region that I cannot overcome. For example, I do not have any friends here. I know most of the locals, but we merely are on good terms. I do not have a deep connection with anybody. Nobody knows what I did today, whether I created something or not, if I have any intellectual pursuits… If I were to disappear tomorrow, nobody would lose anything. I am an individual in what effectively is an alien world.

When there are few people around, people who are considerably older than you, you do not get to choose who you spend your time with. Either you pick the one option for socialisation or you just spend your days alone. I do the latter. The good thing is that I can either work on my projects without interruptions or go for hikes with my dogs. So I am always doing something I enjoy. Though the point is that I can tolerate this state of affairs because I do not ask for much. Another person, especially someone who thinks that my life is cool but has never lived this way before, will probably not have the same tolerance for uneventfulness.

Against this backdrop, maintaining projects for years is a reliable way to remain focused and to not be disheartened. I tend to the work that requires my input. Its results benefit my life in a tangible way. I remain at the peak of my powers, as sharp and active as ever, largely because what I do does not take a toll on my state of mind. I will continue to quietly do my thing in this little corner. Nobody will notice, though I always take stock of the progress, which is all that matters.

It is time to go to bed now. The dogs have been sleeping for a couple of hours already. We will all be up at sunrise, ready to start our morning with the same decisiveness that defined this day.

The rainy days continue. Twice I went with the dogs for a walk while it was pouring, only to encounter heavy rainfall along the way. We could not afford to stay indoors any longer. The dogs need it and I enjoy my hikes as well. I have ran out of dry shoes to wear, though this is not a major problem: I can always walk barefoot, which I have done plenty of times. Granted, that is not my preferred mode of traversing the mountains, as it increases the risk of injury. Though I can tolerate it—and I am extra cautious.

This morning I discovered that the side of the slope opposite my land collapsed under the pressure. The stream below it is very strong right now, as are the showers coming from above. My side remains intact because of the flood-control projects I have been doing. I rely on natural means, such as grass/herbs/bushes for holding together the surface level and roots of trees to keep the underground in place. Though I have also added rocks and whatever odds and ends I could gather to function as barriers that shield the land from the running waters.

There are landslides in many parts around my area. Large boulders have rolled downhill. I expect more of the same for the next ~10 days. It is what happens after two years of drought. Though the human element cannot be underestimated.

Most farmers have this misbegotten notion that everything in and around their land should stay “clean”. They thus cut down everything, poison it, and burn it, leaving a near-naked landscape in their wake: neat and tidy, for sure. Then, when this kind of weather finally arrives, they can only marvel at what I may poetically describe as “the wrath of the gods”.

The gods are not interested in avenging anybody or in helping us fight for some cause. That sort of narrative gives us too much credit. What is happening here is a matter for people to use their common sense, take responsibility for their deeds, and stop blaming their lack of foresight on the putative whims of the divine.

Everything matters in the system. There is nothing that you can eliminate without incurring a cost. Everything you do has far-reaching implications, whose effects condition the subsequent workings of the system. You remove a so-called “useless” tree from the edges of your land, thus creating a vacuum. In its stead shall arise a new order, whose particularities you have not foreseen and no longer control for. It starts with a small slide until it turns into a deep fissure.

What happens in our natural milieu also applies to human affairs, even though we mistakenly fancy ourselves as occupying a special place in the natural order. For example, international relations exhibit the same pattern of a power vacuum being filled in by newer forces. There is no such thing as idleness or rest. The cultures which think they have done their part and can now “just chill” are those which will go extinct. But I digress.

The point is that it is irresponsible to be complacent about any given status quo. Perform rigorous inspections. Question how things are. If something stands the test of time, try to understand it instead of dismissing it as old and parochial: it probably encodes millennia of wisdom, whose finer points elude you. In other words, do not be smug and do not take what you have for granted. This can be about the land you are homesteading or the polity you are a member of. Everything can degenerate quickly if left unchecked.

Complacency is, at its core, a turn inward. It happens when the person or group no longer has situational awareness. They do not pay attention to their environment. Indeed, they think of their surroundings as inert “environment”, as that which merely envelops their subject, instead of a living organism with its own patterns of behaviour: a system of systems all the way up and down. To turn inward is to think of oneself as special, at least in the belief that one is immune to damage or decline.

Complacency is typically made manifest in views that tout humankind as exceptional in this world. “God loves you”, is an oft spoken claim. “You” in particular? How cute! Will the application of the rules be suspended just because of “you”, darling? Of course not. I think it is more appropriate, for the sake of artistic expression, to say that the gods do not tend to our wellness in particular, either individually or collectively, but to the cosmic balance at-large. The rest is your problem. If, for example, you do not account for the mechanics of the living universe that you are a part of, and if you thus proceed to destroy the elements of it whose functioning you do not understand, then no god will come to your rescue once calamity inevitably strikes.

When farmers here opt for the easy solution of spraying poison all over the place and setting the rest on fire, they think they have discovered some miraculous “science” that lets them get the job done in a few minutes instead of labouring at the farm all day. In other words, they fancy themselves as smart. What they do not consider are the externalities. There is a cost to keeping the place “clean”, only it is beyond the horizon of their short-term thinking.

All of this is an exercise in prescience and decisiveness; an exercise in assuming responsibility and taking the initiative. I knew that there would come a day where the severe droughts would be followed by intense precipitation. For several months since the early days I got here I laboured to secure my position. And I remain vigilant in case of an emergency.

Everything continues to flow. To live in this world, one has to be adaptable, poised to act when the situation demands it, while also ready to change their ways if the results are not as expected. Above all, though, one must show respect and self-awareness in recognising their limits. We all learn from mistakes. The key is to embed all teachings into our lifestyle, without thinking too highly of what we do.

I can hear the running waters from my room. I enjoy listening to them all day. This is a beautiful state of affairs. Whether it is so despite or because of its latent danger, I cannot tell. Perhaps both. Awe is, after all, the combination of admiration and fear. What I do get as part of the input is also a stark reminder that this world is not (i) revolving around me and (ii) conspiring in my favour. Underestimate the phenomena or overestimate your abilities and your life shall be forfeit.

22:45 local time. Heavy rainfall, strong winds, and low temperature. This is how the whole day unfolded. The forecast is for more rain until the end of the month, albeit at a lesser intensity.

The flood-control and anti-erosion projects I have been working on have held well. Today was the most demanding stress test. I started thinking of how to control floods at a time when there were barely any rainy days. I knew that I needed to be ready for that eventuality. But I do not rest on my laurels. My approach has been a success thus far, though the execution of it can always be improved.

This morning I inspected the parts bordering the nearby stream. They could benefit from some further reinforcements, namely, an extra layer of stone and gravel. I had already collected a large pile of gravel from the stream before it got flooded. It probably fills up three handcarts. I then walked by the nearby river to collect large rocks. Some of them I could barely lift off the ground. Little by little, I placed them in the handcart and placed them where they needed to be.

In the coming days, I will collect more stones. I need them to reinforce the stairs on the side of the hillock where the solar panels are. When I first did those, I merely carved them into the mountain. They are just soil. Continuous exposure to rainfall will turn any stepped surface into a slide. This is because of how the water accumulates until it eventually flows down, thus movign the soil with it and creating the slope. Adding stones on the top and the base of each stair ensures that rainwater cannot have this effect. I have successfully done this already in some other parts. Time to update the oldest staircase I built here almost three years ago.

Doing anything in the rain is not comfortable. At least not when you need to muster the willpower to start working. Past experience helps though, as you know that the initial discomfort quickly fades. The difficulty, then, consists in not losing your resolve within those first few seconds. Having a good reason to act is also helpful, if not essential: it compels you to move outside of your comfort zone and it makes you more invested in a positive outcome. If you do not believe in the cause, you will struggle to cope with the challenge. Belief is what grants a person the power to fight against all the odds.

What underpins my efforts is the longer-term understanding of my situation. I do not feel entitled to wellness. It was never easy out there, except when I was a baby being taken care of by my parents. I accept all the intermediate problems as part of the larger process that is my life. I have my land and am improving it as I go. It will eventually be a decent and safe place. This is how an acorn develops into a vulnerable sprout, then a flimsy little tree, until it eventually becomes a majestic oak tree.

I understand that I cannot rush things into existence. They can only happen organically, as the cumulative effect of deeds that occur at a smaller scale. Everything takes time. To move a few large rocks here I need a couple of hours. To then do something useful with them is another labour-intensive endeavour that will typically take up an entire morning.

When you are in the mode of doing, patience comes naturally. It would make no sense to become whinny, for example, about the fact that my original staircase is not perfect. I understood the trade-offs back then when I needed to have access to the hillock in order to install the solar panels and move on to the rest of the house. And I remain aware of the costs and benefits at each stage.

Conversely, when you operate exclusively at the level of aspirations and wishful thinking, you have no frame of reference, no sense of the economics of your limited resources, and thus no room for patience. Same principle for disconcerted, ill-thought initiatives: you have to know what you want and what your priorities are. Having electricity and a roof over my head was more important at that time than making sure the staircase would not be prone to erosion after a few years of continuous exposure to the elements.

It is fine to be demanding and to seek perfection. I want to be the best version of myself and continuously try to push the boundaries. Though perfectionism can easily lead to inaction when it develops into an intolerance towards intermediate—occasionally makeshift and outright unappealing—arrangements.

I know not to worry about marginal gains when I have bigger issues to focus on. The “good enough” or the “workable” is all I need at this point. The strategy is one of preserving my vitality, the core of my presence here, and then gradually expanding its reach. There are so many interesting things I can do in my land. It would be cool, for instance, to have a traditional oven somewhere outside. But this is an item for the wishlist. It cannot be done now or in the foreseeable future.

I am aware of my past and of how I ended up in this predicament. I understand the “why” I am putting myself through the rigours. And I have knowledge of the “what” I am working towards. The mind is clear. There are no distractions, no unattainable and ultimately wasteful wants. My thoughts will simply not set me up for failure. The body is thus empowered to be tenacious and relentless.

These days I am making raised garden beds for the coming spring. In them I will plant tomatoes, zucchinis, and onions. It is still too early to start with the vegetables, but I want the land to be ready as soon as the temperatures get a bit warmer.

I also continuously inspect every spot in my land to have an idea of how it is developing. This is a living system. It does not remain static. At one spot, I identified eleven new blackthorns. They are less than thirty centimetres in height, yet are growing fast. I had cleared the land there last year, which created a vacuum that those shrubs will soon fill in. At another location there are three new almond tree offshoots that have just popped out of the ground. Within six months they will be over a metre tall.

Whenever I clear some land, I do it with the intent of giving this living system that I participate in a certain direction. I do not destroy it, even when I cut something down or create a new opening. Many people will bring their notions for the living room to the outdoors. They want the fields to look “clean”, which is far more invasive of a project than whatever one does to their living room.

Sometimes I get questions from labourers heading to the mountains: “why did you leave the grass here?”, to which I respond “because it does no harm”. They are used to spraying chemicals everywhere. I walk past vineyards only to witness the grass in a yellow-red colour, a sign that it is rapidly decaying from poisoning. There is nothing there to hold the soil together. Once the land is dry and prone to erosion, those same people bring in diggers and tractors to fix the mess they created. But they never pause to consider that they could cooperate with the land instead of being in direct conflict with it.

To me, my presence here is not a zero-sum game. I am not dominating my area. I am shaping it, while giving other organisms the room to thrive. They benefit from my initiatives, while I enjoy the benign effect their life has on my stay here. I consider myself responsible for their wellness. Even though I plan to live in this place for the rest of my days, I see myself as a guest. I want to respect what I have found and leave it in a good condition for those who will come after I am gone.

Because of the severe droughts these past two years, I did not have success in my farming endeavours. None of the vegetables made it. While many of the trees I planted got burnt. Still, the side effects of my careful labour are tremendously positive. There are so many new trees and shrubs that are growing. Same for grapevines and aromatic rose bushes. I have lots of them now.

All the transplants I have done these past few months have been successful. I mostly focused on moving aromatic roses at the perimeter of my land. They look beautiful, which is always a plus. But they also perform the vital function of keeping the topmost layer of soil intact. In other words, they prevent soil erosion coming from direct rainfall. I combine those with rocks, to make the edges extra resilient, given how grass and stone quickly form virtually unbreakable bonds.

This winter has been especially rainy and there is forecast for yet more heavy rainfall in the days to come. I am glad that all my work is showing signs of progress, despite the setbacks with the droughts. I know that I am moving towards the right direction. I have a clear vision for my land and recognise that every form of life here has a role to play.

In about a month from now the oak trees will start blossoming. At the early stage they must be releasing some kind of sweet substance that the honeybees adore. Whenever I walk outside during those days I hear a constant buzz from what probably is millions of honeybees at work. It does not disturb me. I stand there in admiration. I find it remarkable how there is immanent reason throughout. One single insect embodies know-how whose full extent eludes us.

I have observed time and again how this living system adapts to my actions, in the same way I respond to the conditions it creates. I clear some spot of land only to find that new vegetation grows there. I plant some canes and then encounter doves take shelter among them. I refrain from pruning dead branches off of some of the older almond trees and each day am greeted to a crow or magpie sitting there. Birds pick those branches because they provide a clear vantage point.

When a crow or magpie sees me, it does its familiar noises while looking at me. I am confident that they know me. They must be recognising the patterns in my motions. All animals do so: it is a prerequisite for their survival to have situational awareness.

Plants are the same. They know, for example, that the spot is clear for them to make their move. They understand how there is better exposure to sunlight as well as improved access to air and, thus, rainwater and humidity. Similarly, a root that gets exposed to the air knows that it has to turn itself into an offshoot. It too is mindful.

I do not mean to suggest that other forms of life are human-like in their qualities, but that what we think of as peculiar to humanity is actually widespread.

Springtime is fast approaching. The more I understand my immediate surroundings, the less important I feel I am. It is wonderful to be aware of what is happening and to know that the world will carry on without me.

“What do you do in your life?” One is inclined to write about their career in the most favourable terms possible. I am content with “I create clearings”.

A few people have sent me a message asking how I am doing given the crisis in the Middle East. Cyprus is providing strategic depth to the Western forces. The military bases of the United Kingdom in Cyprus are assets of the war effort and, thus, prime targets for an attack. The rest of the island is not directly involved in the conflict, though it could be caught in the crossfires. The future is uncertain and we hope for the best.

I keep living my life as usual. When I have work on the computer, I am online. Otherwise, I am outdoors doing manual labour or hiking with my dogs. The place is quiet here and nothing happens beside what I just described. If I was not reading the news, I would not even know what is happening in the wider region.

Knowledge of the war does not change my outlook though. I stick to my routines because (i) I am content with them and (ii) I have no viable alternative. Worrying about all the possible vectors of attack does not change my material conditions. I have no means to enact reforms. My power to even change the opinion of one person is limited, let alone any attempt at stopping the military juggernauts of Iran, Israel, USA, and friends.

I am a peasant. Having access to the Internet does not change this fact. I mind my business in my small plot of land. My ambition only goes as far as growing vegetables for this season, while taking care of all the trees I have planted until they are strong enough to not rely on my care. In my little world, there is no calculus over how to control anybody else.

What I do here is inconsequential. If I were to stop doing it, nobody would even notice. The world will carry on. I like this state of affairs. I do not feel any pressure to live up to a certain standard nor to care about people whose lives I do not have under my aegis. The stakes are low, which makes me feel relaxed.

I do not think I am special or particularly good at anything. Anything I do, someone does it better. Everything I have ever achieved, someone has reached a greater height. All I have to show for is honest effort. It is cute, but nothing extraordinary.

I do not assign disproportionate value to myself of the sort “what will happen to others if I am gone?”. Others have to manage, anyway, so they will keep doing what they do. My dogs are the ones who would struggle, though I can only hope that their calm demeanour and the good manners I have taught them will allow them to find food in some built-up area. Beside that, I see no problem or, anyhow, nothing to worry about.

This morning I spent three hours working the land. Every part here embeds my efforts. I like that my sweat drops on the ground. It makes it feel real. I know that even though I am but a visitor in this world, I have for once made a connection with a place.

I never felt attached to a country or a community. Yes, I have had many friends and was always treated with kindness, but I could not ever claim to feel a part of something greater than me. My land gives me a different feeling. It is as if I am growing roots here. Like the oak trees, I affect my immediate environment, though not to dominate but to direct it with respect as well as with determination.

Nominally, I am Greek, Cypriot, European. What do those even mean? I have not been to Greece in two decades. I have spent more time abroad than in my birthplace. Whatever I take from the Greek tradition is available to anyone and not exclusive to individuals of a certain bloodline. Being European is a figment of law and then the imagination. I do not treat people of Europe any different than those of other continents. If someone wants to talk with me, I am happy to talk with them. Where they are from is irrelevant. As for the Cypriot part, it is mostly a description of the fact that I am collocated with a certain group of people. They are nice to me and I treat them with respect, though I still do not see any deep bond there.

I know that my mode of living is uncommon even though it used to be the norm for millennia. That is fine. Each person does what their condition renders unavoidable. My land and these mountains bring me peace. Every morning I am ready to start the day with enthusiasm. I am in a good mood at all times, ready to make jokes where appropriate and get some hard work done. Nothing disappoints me because I am not committed to specific outcomes. I take what comes my way and work with it. What I am committed to are my projects, which I pursue for as long as I can or until they are done.

There is a future in which me and my land are no longer together. It is all part of the process. How proximate or remote that eventuality is does not matter. I remain in the here-and-now. This article shows my ongoing ability to maintain focus, to continue with what I am working on, and to proceed one step at a time. I know that this ability, no matter how much I refine it, is not permanent. My volition will never have the power to withdraw it from the world of impermanence, to render it immune to the workings of the cosmos, and to forever make it a part of a transcendent me.

Wars will keep happening. Not because humans in particular have frailties of character. No. That gives us too much value. Nature all around us exhibits the capacity for conflict among forms of live. What we do is an expression of what is immanent, from bacteria competing with each other, to plants fighting for a place in the sun, to predators that kill their competitors. Same principle for solidarity. We can cooperate, like other forms of life do. An equilibrium is always established. I do not worry.

My dogs understand all the verbal and non-verbal cues that signify “I am done with the computer for now”. I had a meeting until 21:00 this night. As soon as I said “goodbye”, the dogs raised their head and started stretching. They know that once I am done, I will spend time with them. Specifically, we will go out for a walk. The only exception is during midday, when it is relatively warm (or extra hot during the summer). The dogs will still want to be outdoors, but only to sunbathe for a few minutes before eventually moving to the shade. We did go for an hour-long walk and now I am back to write this entry before going to bed.

One quality I like in dogs is how consistently eager they are. If it is their time for a walk, they will want to go and they will be excited about it. With people it is more complex, as we sometimes do not feel like doing something even when the prevailing conditions are favourable. We may simply be bored.

Boredom and the mental fogginess it creates influences how we feel about our duties. Sometimes, boredom is a coping mechanism to make us suspend some intense work schedule we are committed to. This is benign and desirable, because we often lack the foresight to stop before overworking ourselves. Though boredom can also be detrimental to us. It is so when it keeps us inert in a situation that we would rather not be in for too long.

I think of boredom as a mechanism of short-term preservation. What it lacks is a view of the long-term, which we can only get through reason. When boredom qua preservation helps us safeguard our vitality from the potential harm of burnout, then it is good for us long-term. Let this be the “preservation of essence”, which inhibits what we would normally do. Though there is also the “preservation of momentum”, else the kind of boredom that makes us stay in the state we are in and inhibits actions that would undo it. This can be problematic for us long-term, such as when we get used to bad habits.

Boredom, then, is neither good nor bad, or it is both good and bad. We have to consider the specifics in light of our life’s trajectory. Only then can be tell if preserving what we have is going to contribute to our wellness. The longer-term view also means that we operate with sustainability in mind. It is not enough for something to be pleasant right now: it must also not be undermining our abilities for the moments after.

This is where my competitiveness comes into play. When it comes to my own decisions, I am a stern and demanding judge. If I think about the situation of me being asked by my dogs to join them on a long walk at night, I can come with a perfectly valid reason to declare how bored I am. It would be the same as admitting to fatigue, which is okay and I would indeed try to keep it short in such a case. Though I did not feel tired and thus would not allow myself the easy way out. Not only did I go for a walk, but it was also an intense one.

My competitiveness is not erga omnes. It is only directed towards me. This is because I only know how I feel and thus sense that a certain course of action is appropriate. The propriety of it does not exist in a vacuum though. It can only be right if the particularities make it possible. As such, I do not make prescriptions for others: they can do as they feel. So it makes no sense to issue a pronouncement along the lines of “go for a walk at night, no matter what”. That would be uninformed and presumptuous.

I keep describing those as “walks”, but they are hikes. We move up the valley. The slope is steep. This is not like going to the park. It requires more effort. The dogs love it, as do I. For them, it is an outlet for their energy and predatory instincts. Once they get back home, they are peaceful. I think the same is true for humans, though we are more complex in our behaviour and our wants.

Humans can express their desire for openness in physical as well as cognitive ways. For example, the hunter and the philosopher make manifest two modes of this same propensity. The hunter will be out there, determined to track the game or wait at the right spot. They will be excited when they find that which they are seeking. The philosopher is on a more abstract quest, albeit one that exhibits the same patterns. They search for the “open space”, which is to say that they cannot just take a claim as a given: they need to examine it, else to look around for what else is out there. And the philosopher will similarly be working towards something that can be acquired.

Openness, then, is not a descriptor for how contemplative one is. It marks a propensity that can be expressed through deeds and/or thoughts. This understanding helps me see the connections and be inspired by phenomena that are at once different than my immediate experience yet unmistakably familiar.

There is something in us which triggers a sense of excitement. Knowing what that is helps us muster the enthusiasm to push against the natural tendency for boredom as preservation of momentum. We need to do as much when we understand that the state-to-be-preserved is not benign for us long-term.

I do this consistently with my walks, but also by controlling my work time. I save myself from burnout by being honest with how I feel about things. Honesty, here, is how I maintain situational awareness with regard to my own condition. I do not mindlessly do something because I am supposed to. I check if it still makes sense in light of the circumstances. If, for example, I am not inspired to look into my Emacs packages for a day or two, then I do not pressure myself thus. I do something else instead, so I preserve my essence.

To know ourselves better helps us do small things each day that have a positive cumulative effect on our longevity. I am inspired by dogs and am also dog-like in this regard. Our walk tonight in the mountains under the moonlight was beautiful. I will welcome the coming day with the same zest and will continue to finds ways to stay as sharp as ever.

The conflagration in the Middle East threatens to pull Cyprus into the conflict. The Republic of Cyprus is not directly involved in the hostilities. Though the island has two “sovereign” military bases of the United Kingdom, at Akrotiri and Dhekelia. The bases can be used by the Americans and their allies and, thus, are prime targets of Iran the same way all such assets in the region are.

I monitor the news as I am expecting things to get worse over the short-term. But I do not lose my calm. If I need to act, I am ready for action. In the meantime, work continues as usual. I am working on an infrastructure project in my land to reinforce parts that might be exposed to soil erosion under intense rainfall. First, I need to collect a lot of soil, as well as plenty of stones. I will use the raw materials to raise and then flatten the area I am targeting. It is laborious though I enjoy the process.

Improving the conditions in and around my house reminds me that (i) I am sufficiently powerful though (ii) my ability to affect the world is limited. Whenever I have free time, I go out to do something. I never remain idle, bemoaning my fate or complaining about the prevailing conditions. I live by an ancient Greek saying that roughly translates as “the start is half of the whole” (η αρχή είναι το ήμισυ του παντός). If I can make a small improvement today, I do it and set things in motion for more work to-be-done. Then I rely on my consistency to bring the task to its completion: I do not start too many projects at once and then leave them hanging. I only do one or a few at a time.

This work has a short feedback loop. I do something and experience the results either immediately or after a few months. I thus am intimately aware of what is missing and what is already finalised. Though I also understand the limits of my industry. No matter how hard I try, I can only do relatively little. Just mining and then moving around a few hundred kilograms of soil all by hand requires several days of physically strenuous work.

I thus know not to be overly ambitious. I do not set arbitrary deadlines. Each project is done organically. I iterate on it continuously, though do not stress about any particular timeline. I find that adding a dimension of time-sensitivity to a task that is not inherently time-sensitive only creates confusion as to what is actually non-negotiable on any given day. I let the genuinely time-sensitive tasks, such as coaching sessions I have scheduled, determine when I need to be on the computer. And then I have time to commit to my house and land or the maintenance of my Emacs packages, depending on what I am working on in that moment.

My immediate reality informs my approach to the bigger issues of our times. I have the capacity to voice my opinion, though I know that it does not amount to much in the grand scheme of things. I am not in a position of authority, I have no influence whatsoever over policy-making, and I do not intend to become a politician. The ruling elites have made their choices, in terms of aligning Cyprus with the Western sphere of influence. The locals here are generally content with what they have. And since I live at the margins of their society, I suspect that my opinions will not share the sensitivities they have. So I better remain silent and accept the realities of my condition.

I cannot claim to be successful in any major way. My experience is about a few minor wins. The usual markers for success all point to me being a loser. Even if I personally do not internalise that thought and remain resilient, I am aware how the world works. Whatever I say can easily be dismissed by attacking my person, in the form of employing the twin sophistries of “coping” and “projecting”.

If you say something about how you do things different from the rest, then you are coping, meaning that you are just making an excuse for your failure to be like the others. And if you describe something happening out there, then you are projecting your own frailties of character. Coping and projecting are convenient tools. You do not need to think deeply about any of the stated points. Just filter the contents of your rival through the relevant tool and—voilà!—you are insightful now.

For political views, in particular, you are expected to have no nuanced opinion at all. Instead, you have to play the game of “this good, that evil”, as if you are a complete moron. It is how Cyprus submits to the suzerainty of the Western empire. Pointing this out does not mean that I have sympathy for the regime in Iran—screw them! Though I will not accept the one-sided narrative that the Iranians are “evil” when I know that the West is ruled by the Epstein class.

If war comes here, I will deal with it. And if it does not affect me directly, it will definitely hit me financially. Things are already tight in that regard. Economic crises are always felt early by those at the lower parts of the income distribution.

None of this matters right now. I focus on the present and continue working with the same intensity. Tomorrow I have to break down some more soil and then distribute it around my land. I will always try my best.

Yesterday morning two labourers came to work at the neighbouring vineyard. Their task was to prune the grapevines. I had to bring the puppies indoors because they are still too eager to defend their territory. The older dogs know when to fight and when to keep a watchful eye. But the puppies lack experience. They need more time to learn when they need to show ferocity and when to hold back. Usually the latter is enough of a deterrent. I am training them little by little and am confident that they will become competent guard dogs. The key is patience: I cannot force things to happen.

At noon the labourers took a lunch break. I went to greet them. My goal was to have a chat in order to learn more about what it takes to manage a vineyard. The labourers are foreigners. They could barely communicate in Greek. English was not much of an improvement either. They told me that their employer was nearby, a couple hundred metres further up the valley. I thanked them for the hint and went to meet this person. He is a local. His name starts with “A”, so for the purposes of this article I will call him “Mr. A”.

Mr. A is in his mid-sixties. I wanted to ask him about the best time to plant new grapevines. My previous attempts have been unsuccessful. He said that the droughts have been harsh and that I should try again this year. Even in March is a good time. What matters is that there is enough humidity and/or rainfall for the first couple of years. If necessary, I should water them a little bit. The grapevines do not need to be watered further once they grow enough. It is only necessary to prune them, which I already know how to do properly.

He then asked me if I am the “guy with the dogs”, to which I answered affirmatively. There are plenty of people in my area who have a dog at home, but I am one of the few, if not the only one, who consistently walks around with dogs. Plus, I have four of them now and they are medium-to-large animals. People will often ask me how do I handle four dogs when even one is already a challenge, regardless of size. I explain that it is not magic. If you put in the time to train them properly and remain consistent in your verbal and non-verbal communication with them, then you get the desired results. Being able to physically handle four dogs is important, of course, though good manners make everything easier.

Mr. A went on to tell me his story. He did most of the talking. “I am a guerrilla like you”, he said “I built my own house beyond the built-up areas, installed solar panels there, and now need to have dogs to guard the place while I am away”. I thought likening us to guerrilla fighters was a figure of speech that did not carry any weight, but he continued down that line of thought: “we fight to the bitter end”, he added. I was maintaining eye contact while listening. What I saw was indeed a fighter, but also a man with deep regrets who was trying to set in motion what he kept postponing for a lifetime. I felt that he was trying to muster the courage to wish something into being rather than merely describe his condition.

I offered to help him with anything he needs for his homestead. As for his impression of me, I made no comment. I let people speak their mind. I do not try to correct them, nor do I wish to elicit favourable opinions. If somebody says something about me, I take it as-is. I am curious to understand their point of view, though I do not question the merits of their position. The reason is that one’s impression of me may be inaccurate from my perspective but is not wrong from theirs. What they have developed up until that point is a function of what they are aware of and the circumstances of their being. Their opinion, to the extent that they are honest about it, is a true reflection of a certain state of affairs. Whether that aligns with the facts of my life, let alone how I perceive of them, is a matter of correspondence between data sets and attendant judgement calls.

Concretely, I was reluctant to commit to the notion that I am a guerrilla fighter. I do not think of myself as fighting against anyone. To my mind, I am but an ordinary villager. I live peacefully in a rural area, doing much of what people used to do for millennia. My life is quiet here. When I am not working on the computer, I spend time with my dogs and/or do manual labour for my house/land. I tend to all my projects with care and, generally, mind my business without interfering in the affairs of others.

I know that my lifestyle is nothing special because this is how my parents grew up. Their parents were peasants as well and so on for all previous generations that we have records of. Same for their relatives and neighbours. It is not until the second half of the 20th century when everyone started treating rural life as démodé.

I live here because it appeals to me. I am not interested in starting a mimetic trend. I think those quickly get overtaken by shallow gimmicks, like with the so-called “trad” wives who bake bread in their cute pink ovens while wearing a ton of makeup and the finest clothes. My relatives, say my grandmother, was an actually traditional matriarch who would have had some stern words for this show… But I digress. My point is that I just do my thing, as I am not fishing for Internet points.

How I became suspicious of the urban life I had is due to serendipity. One day I stumbled across a 4-hour-long music video that emulated natural sounds to induce a state of “deep focus and relaxation”. You hear the water flowing, the wind blowing, the birds chirping, and are supposed to be empowered to act or, simply, to fall asleep easily. To me, this presented an intellectual challenge: if the natural rhythms have a benign effect on me, and if the baseline of what I experience daily is to my detriment, then why do I not reverse the dynamic? Instead of escaping from stress to find moments of tranquillity, I can operate in a calm environment and engage in high-intensity activities on demand.

Those videos can never address the underlying problems. They effectively wanted me to experience an aspect of the world through a proxy. Instead of going out there to get a feel for how it is, I was invited to sit in front of the computer for several more hours, indulging in my sense of comfort. What would I be doing in the meantime, if not to aimlessly consume more “content”? That seemed unhelpful to me. It took me a while to understand what had to be done, but I already knew what the right direction was for me. I had to change my ways, to scrutinise those activities that I had not put any thought into, and to become someone I would be happy with. Since then I decided to partake in the world without intermediaries and to live a life of initiative.

Videos of natural sounds can never capture the complete experience because there is no sense of danger or discomfort. If I am in the middle of some unfamiliar forest after the sun sets, then my alertness is at its maximum. Something primal awakens, which makes me a wolf among wolves. In those moments, I am not my usual self because I viscerally understand that the world is not necessarily kind to me. The cosmos has no favourites. The world at-large does not revolve around me. It does not care if I live or die, if I am happy or miserable. In this world I find pleasure and grief. What prevails is an equilibrium. I then feel in every fibre of my being how I have to struggle for whatever it is I want to change. To try to the best of my abilities for as long as those last, because the universe will not conspire in my favour.

Mr. A is implicitly spot on about a certain behavioural trait: the inclination to put ideas into action. This I do have and am much more decisive than I used to be. It is inherently risky to make decisions with far-reaching implications. There is a chance that you are wrong and there is no way to get compensated for the lost vitality or the years that went by. But how can we ever know if we do not put thoughts to the test? I collect as much information as I can to inform my judgement. When the answer is not clear and I am pressed to make a decision, I let my gut feeling be the tie-breaker.

Ikaros (Icarus) took his flight too close to the sun. In a sense, his was an act of hubris, of trying to escape from the confines imposed on the human condition by the gods. His death was the price he had to pay for such insolence. Though I think of Ikaros as a hero who dared to push against the boundaries in order to discover where the terminus is. Some people have this trait of not listening to words of caution. They only submit to the authority of facts and reason. Everything else is an opinion whose relevance remains to be determined. Conventional wisdom fails to amuse them. They heed the song of the siren, which lures them to the high seas where adventure, treasure, and death, stand side-by-side.

Mr. A praised my integrity. I do not know what made his say that. I barely talked, anyway. All I did was to seek advice about grapes and to then pay attention to his instructions. What I said about myself was limited to my name: “Protesilaos”. Perhaps he meant to thank me for what I had communicated through my deeds and body language: a fight is possible and its outcome is not a given. Those who give up lose before they start. In this regard, Mr. A may be on to something with his metaphor. Though I still choose to believe that my uneventful life in these mountains is not an open conflict with some rapacious establishment, but a mere appreciation of the basics.

I just saw your selfie after you cut your own hair[1]. Even though I live in the city and have a barber, cutting my own hair has been always in the back of my mind, something I am “pining for” (lack of a better phrase).

Do you have any tips for cutting your own hair? Would you consider writing a blog post on this? I would like to know what tools you use, mirror arrangements, stylization tips you use on yourself, etc. etc.

Footnotes: [1] https://protesilaos.com/selfies/2025-10-22-haircut-now-refinements/

Sure, I will respond here and this will become the text of the blog post (without disclosing your private information). I guess it makes sense to do this as a video, but it will be difficult to do an informative recording on my own where I show mirrors and stuff. Maybe in the future…

I have been doing my own hair for a long time now. I first experimented with it while I was a teenager. The hairstyles I do are fairly simple, in that they do not involve a lot of detail-oriented steps. I do not use scissors for my hair, though I do have them for the beard if/when it is long (have not done that in a while, but I might let it grow again this year).

The simplest hairstyle is the buzz cut. You take the electric clipper and run it through your hair to create a uniform look. The way I make sure that I catch everything is by placing the other hand in front, so it guides the clipper. Using both hands ensures that you actually do not need any mirrors. You rely on your sense of touch and continue until you can no longer feel any hair that is longer than the rest. Just make sure not to cut diagonally. Gently guide the blades on a straight line, otherwise you will injure yourself. Also pay attention to the angle of the blades: they should touch the skin from the size, rather than vertically.

Another easy one is the clean shave. Start with a buzz cut to keep the hair short and then use a razor to make a deeper cut. The razor I use is the same I have for shaving. It is one of those generic ones you find in stores with the 2 blades. There are other more renowned brands with 3-5 blades, but I pick the cheaper option here because it is good enough. To get the deepest cut, apply the razor counter to the direction the hair grows towards. Make sure you are consistent though, otherwise some spots will have a deeper cut than others. As with the clipper, make sure not to run the razor diagonally: always move it in a straight line

The other hairstyle I do which you linked to is a bit more involved, in that I trim only the sides. For this I use two mirrors, one that is framed on the wall and another that I hold in my hand. The exact curve for the sides will depend on my mood, but the idea is to complement the shape of the skull. The highest point I want to shave off is where the top of the skull ends. It will depend on the shape of your head, of course, but check if you can make a distinction between the upper part of the skull and the sides. Imagine that a ball rolls from the top: there must be a point where it meets the “cliff” and clearly falls off. Then draw the line there. Once you are at this point, you use the techniques that apply to the other two hairstyles I covered.

Clippers come with different guards for controlling the length of the hair. Note that these can be false friends, because you must also be mindful of the force you are applying. If you do rely on the guards, be careful to maintain a steady hand and to be consistent throughout. Otherwise the results will be uneven.

You may want to use such guards if you do a multi-level hairstyle where the sides get progressively deeper from top to bottom. I have done that before. The principles are the same. Using mirrors and keep your hands steady.

With two mirrors, one inertial and another that you move around, you can easily spot every side. Though you still have to get used to using the tools while mirroring the motions. And then, you will need to become sufficiently ambidextrous with them, as you cannot use the right hand to cut deep on your left side and vice versa while also maintaining a clear view through the mirror. This is the most difficult part of the process, so you may want to practice with the easier techniques before you get to this.

Something I also do while shaving/trimming my beard is to do the sides first before moving to the centre. The idea is that if I run out of battery or must leave quickly then I still have something that is tolerable, if not already great. And if I planning to do the rest, then I can work on it later.

Part of doing everything myself is to keep costs at a minimum. I do not have fancy products, like lotions and stuff. I also never put really hot water on my hair (actually I do cold showers year-round, but this is just a me thing) or have a hair drier, so there never is any related damage that has to be repaired. The hair stays healthy thanks to the overall lifestyle. If you do need products though, then that is fine: check online for suggestions, as I really am of no help here.

Another rainy day. The clouds have been low in the valley. I can barely see the opposite side, even though it is about a hundred metres away. Every time of the year has its beauty. This is no different. I appreciate it while it lasts.

The nearby stream gets flooded whenever there is heavy rainfall: it is why I spent months setting up flood-control infrastructure and redirecting the flow of water. On such days gravel comes downstream. I have put some sturdy obstacles to hold the larger pieces in place, while still allowing water to flow through. Stones and sand accumulate there. I collect them daily with a shovel and distribute them around my land on a wheelbarrow.

There are several spots in my land that get muddy and slippery. By putting coarse earth over them, I make them safer to traverse. Plus the result looks pretty. This project is time-consuming. Working in the ice cold water is uncomfortable, though it is worth the trouble. Once I am done, I will remove the obstacles from the stream so that they do not hold back anything I would not want to have there long-term.

I check all the spots in my vicinity to make sure everything is as it ought to be. I am proactive, though knowing what is happening allows me to act in a timely fashion if I need to intervene. Being in control is a matter of safety as well as a precondition for iterating on my goals without experiencing major setbacks. For example, I never actually had to deal with a flood since I first came here. But if I had never done any of that work, the kind of weather we have now after an intense drought would have surely put me at greater risk of harm. This is due to how dry soil with insufficient vegetation is more prone to erosion: there is nothing to hold it together.

Generally, I maintain situational awareness. It allows me to act swiftly, calmly, and decisively. This is what I did when the wildfires were raging this past summer. I kept my cool in large part because I had a clear mental map of where to be and the possible paths to safety: I had been checking them out on a daily basis.

Alertness stands beside paranoia. One must be safe, but being “too safe” detracts from the quality of life. What helps is to have a sense of the longer term: the world is not collapsing. If we focus too much on the short-term and the details, we lose sight of the bigger picture, which engenders in us the functional equivalent of claustrophobia. In other words: it disempowers us.

The narrow perspective may distort our perception, in how we estimate the extent of a threat or the interplay of factors. Indeed, too narrow a view will make us miss relevant factors altogether, both those that contribute to potential trouble and the ones that provide an antipode to it.

Our outlook aside, we have to tend to our physical condition. One must be able to breath easily, if they are to think clearly. More so in times of duress. The baseline heart rate has to be fairly low, so that there is enough of a buffer when push comes to shove.

In short, the mental and the physical go together. Those who think that meditation alone, without respect for the body, will give them peace of mind, are in for a rude awakening.

One earns the power of control through consistency and patience. It is a state of being characterised by balance and elegance. Those who are typically described as “control freaks” are not actually in control of anything, which is why they are freaking out all the time. All they are good at is to anger and/or infantilise those around them. Maybe their desire is to reach a point where they can affect their environment. But want alone amounts to nothing if it is not underpinning a stepwise plan of action to build up the requisite capacity.

The hut project has given me a house. This is its purpose. I like it for that very reason. Though it has also affected certain intangibles. It is my own initiative and its product is a function of my labour. As such, it reinforces the impression that part of my fate is in my own hands. I know that if something does not work well, it is because I did not do it properly or completely failed to account for some factor. And, conversely, if everything is in order or moving in the right direction it is due to my ongoing efforts.

Being told what to do without a cogent argument as to why has always rubbed me the wrong way for as long as I can remember. Give me a valid point and I will follow. Demonstrate with reason or facts and I obey. Else do not bother. Physically, I need an outlet for my energy. Let me run, let me dig, let me explore. Just let me be: I do not interfere with anyone’s activities and will not boss anybody around. Same on the intellectual front, where I want to express my thoughts without holding anything back. I do not appeal to any authority nor do I claim to be an expert. I just have to be left to my own devices.

Where I am, I love that nobody will do the work in my stead. Mine is a double-edged life: reward for my achievements and punishment for my shortcomings. Having embraced this reality, I do not brag about the good things nor do I complain about the bad ones. “Good” and “bad” are mere figures of speech. To me here, what is, simply is. There is no attendant judgement call that matters. I accept the consequences of my choices without arguing with the heavens and am prepared to deal with the circumstances as they unfold.

People operate on a spectrum of safety and risk, which correlates with blending in versus standing out. At the one extreme are those who follow the beaten path, act on the basis of directives, respect existing structures, and take no responsibility for their actions. At the other extreme is someone like me, who will speak their mind and be ready to take the hit on the chin.

When I launched my website, for example, I was still a university student yet was already vociferous as if I was a preeminent scholar in my field. Not being an expert did not deter me. Nor was I afraid of being wrong—of which I have been countless times, both stylistically and substantively. I admit to my faults. If I improved at all in the process it is through trial and error: a baptism of fire. The mistakes are integral to my growth as a person. I do not hide them, as they are constitutive of who I currently am.

On the aforementioned spectrum, none of the extremes is better than the other. I am not proud of my disposition. Again, no value judgements. Mine is a descriptive statement of how things stand. I do not prescribe it as the conduit to the blissful life.

The extremes on the spectrum represent complementary modes of behaving. The same person can be situated on different parts of the spectrum, depending on the specifics of the case, though they generally are more on one side or the other. What matters is that we appreciate the diversity among people, so as to not try to force everyone to act the same way: all have their role in the social whole.

A competent leader figure, which may be a parent, teacher, football coach, et cetera, knows whom to leave to their own devices and whose hand to hold. A one-size-fits-all treatment is not only lazy and misinformed but detrimental to those involved.

The desire for control is understandable and, depending on the specifics, indispensable. The parent must be there to define the boundaries within which the child can explore its world. What the parent offers is effectively a robust framework of control, inside of which there can be freedom. The child is thus empowered to employ its faculties while being shielded from the most pernicious consequences.

Control loses its benign function as soon as it denies any space for experimentation and failure. In the above example, the child can never learn to trust its own devices if it is babied in the strictest of ways. If it is not allowed to fall while trying to walk, then how will it ever be prepared to deal with the far more painful hits that life has in store for it?

What applies to individuals holds true for societies at-large. Those that seek to maximise safety, else to monitor and regulate everything down to the last detail, necessarily give rise to the tyranny of the perceived known, which manifests as totalitarianism. At the other extreme, those who deify the individual and see no need for constraints whatsoever, such as through tradition that has stood the test of time for millennia, usher in the tyranny of the perceived unknown, which is experienced as ochlocracy and which shifts rapidly from one fad to another.

The desire for control is what protects the baby, but also what kills the latent hero in it. It is why we have to make efforts to understand each other, not merely to tout how open-minded we are. Ignorance cannot beget tolerance.

It will be another rainy day tomorrow. I am looking forward to it.

The other day I was reading through my RSS feeds to catch up on the news. I noticed an article with a title along the lines of “I want to be allowed to hate on fatherhood” (me paraphrasing). The author was a man about to tell us how much suffering is involved in being a father. I thought to myself that this is yet another one of those common performative gimmicks of the attention economy: the influencer must be ever-more outrageous and controversial in order to outcompete other influencers in the race for clicks.

Even though I knew that the content would not amuse me, I followed the link. Yes, I am stupid. As I read through the first couple of paragraphs, I realised that it was getting even more preposterous than I had expected, with mothers who are hating on motherhood and the like. So I stopped reading, unsubscribed from that feed, and went out for a walk a bit earlier than planned.

Judging by what we get online, modern medicine is out of sync with the times. Before delving into the specifics of one’s health, the doctor should ask “when was the little time you touched grass?” and should then prescribe a couple of months of daily exposure to natural scenes combined with a strict diet of no computer time past work. Sure, this is tongue-in-cheek, though I do believe we are losing touch with the basics. Once the meme becomes reality, new memes tend to be even more egregious.

Walking connects me to my immediate reality. The pace of my hike is relatively slow, as is the rate of change in my environment. Life here is uneventful, in the sense that there is nothing “grand” happening on the people front. Seasons come and go. With them I get the small joys of each day, such as to notice slightly different colouration in the river across my house, or to be exposed to the scent of a certain flower. These are the kind of mildly uplifting feelings that will not work for clickbait purposes, but will instil in you a sense of peace.

As I walk, a buffer is formed between my thoughts and my potential actions. If, for example, I get the idea to write a flagrant one-liner, I cannot do it impulsively. Instead, I have to slowly cover the distance back home, while breathing fresh air and continuing to think things through, and only then do the deed. By that time, the urge to commit mayhem is gone. Same principle for long-form writing or talking at length and in depth: it keeps you in check.

Think of how frequently people post something invidious and delete it afterwards: it is because there is no intermediate space between their incomplete thoughts and their capacity to broadcast byte-sized venom in an instant.

In my surroundings, there is no controversy and strong feelings. Things are calm. Here no form of life tries to be as hyperbolic as possible. Nature is subtle even in its most awesome moments. I have learnt from it to be simple in my ways. To appreciate the few things that are available to me and to not complain for what is not mine.

The person who does not touch grass and is always online is conditioned to constantly seek fuel for strong emotions, be they pleasure, hatred, indignation, disgust, or pity. They need to be compelled thus, for that is all their digital environment has ever supplied them with. All emotional stimuli are readily available in unlimited quantity.

As a side-effect of such conditioning, the person develops a sense of entitlement, but also an expectation for constant intense stimulation: they think the world owes them happiness, comfort, or whatnot. Consequently, this is a milieu that is dominated by the increasingly gory and obscene. It is all shouting at you, upping the pressure on your conscience.

The digital world has a speed that is faster than what we can sustainably live with. If you follow the news cycle for a while, you already feel that the world is on the brink of collapse. Tune in to any talk show to find people screaming at each other, no matter the topic. After sufficient exposure, you are one degree away from either exploding in frustration or imploding in depression. When subtlety is lost, so is stability.

We underestimate the latent toxicity of information and of the thoughts it can engender. We know that we should be careful about what we eat, drink, and breath, but we forget that what we think also contributes to our wellness or lack thereof. The information we are exposed to creates a certain climate that skews our perception accordingly. The question, then, is whether this is a viable environment for us.

Touching grass is not necessarily comfortable. It requires some effort and does not provide instant gratification on demand. We have to earn it through patience and perseverance. Nature is not the omniscient, benevolent figure that tends to our well-being and conspires in our favour. That is the figment of our wishful thinking. What we get in the great outdoors is indifferent to us. Nature does not make promises and no-one is entitled to anything. The more you are out there instead of being in your head, the more you realise that you are not at the centre of the world.

I am here as a passenger. Later I could miss a step, fall, break my neck, and die on the spot. That almost happened to me a few winters ago when I stepped on ice and went sliding downhill at 5 in the morning, with nobody around. This world does not revolve around me: it will carry on the way it always does. It does not idolise me. I am not its epicentre. I am yet another life form the same way rats and trees are.

This is not me devaluing myself, rationalising my lack of self-esteem, or whatnot. Even the most conventionally successful or popular person is subject to the same forces. Whatever importance we think we have, nature reminds us that it is not much. So I am a philosopher, among others. One may think this is a major achievement. In the sense of putting in the work, indeed it is not something that comes about easily. Though being a philosopher is no different than being a non-philosopher, if we abstract away the details: we all are people who will get the same treatment by the cosmos, namely, ageing and death, typically combined with a hard lesson in humility.

The “has been” kind of celebrity wants to cling on to their past glory, such as by claiming that “in my time I was swaying public opinion and moving the crowds”. Well, now you are reaching your end and nobody cares who you used to be.

Such is the bigger picture. I am humble because I understand that (i) I have no ownership over anything that is nominally “me”, such as my intelligence or looks, and (ii) however good I am, there are magnitudes that are far more potent than me. No matter how strong my volition is, it is not able to halt that which is inexorable, nor to alter that which is immutable.

Coming back to that article, I could comment on the substantive point, but it would be a futile effort. The reason is that the incentives for extremism are systemic. Once this fad of the parent who hates parenthood runs its course, it will be superseded by a yet more extremist position, such as the parent who cultivates and then sells their offspring for profit, and so on. I cannot even come up with realistic scenaria anymore, as the real outcomes will probably be far worse than what I can imagine, if the memes are allowed to run amok.

The reason I unsubscribed from that feed is because I do not want my mental state to be governed by phenomena that are not pertinent to my being and to be distorted by methods that prey on my feelings. Why did I subscribe to begin with? Because I thought there was some decent journalism there, which has been on a steady decline for several months due to the innate logic of the attention economy: exaggerations are better for viewership.

Clickbait is the intended transmission mechanism. The whole routine of “comment, like, subscribe, and hit the bell button” is the ritual sacrifice we make to the altars of profitability. Deep down we know we are being disrespected by such manipulation tactics, yet the system is set up to reward those who exploit them the most.

The Internet distorts spacetime by making everything appear proximate and imminent. It is not. As soon as I switch off the computer, I am presented with a world whose rhythms match mine. I quit social media a long time ago for the same reason. Idem for not turning my phone into a “productivity” tool: I do not want to be constantly connected to an information network that is withdrawn from my actuality.

The sun is about to rise. I am ready for another day. I know that I am not special in this place. I will not be rewarded with everything my heart desires. And I do not matter in the end. Such is tranquillity.

Writing makes me feel calm. It removes all concerns and distractions. This is a consequence of focusing on the task at hand. While elaborating on this essay, I cannot also process with equal effectiveness all other stimuli that demand attention. Irrelevant thoughts I could otherwise entertain are pushed to the side. I cannot pull them to the centre of my conscience while also trying to make this blog entry happen. In other words, I benefit from the fact that I am not good at multitasking: I just do one thing well, which is to produce this sequence of letters.

Doing this also puts me in control. I slow down my experience to a pace that is natural for my current activity. When I am exposed to, say, the news cycle, I sense that the information world is speeding away from me. Everything changes so fast, I cannot keep up with it, and I either surrender to constant distraction or feel stressed and disempowered. When I write or, generally, when I proceed out of my initiative, I maintain my balance. My poise is perfect. My progress inexorable.

I can find other good reasons to write, such as to keep a record of the little things that happen to me on a daily basis. Personally, I do not take note of the trivia, such as what I ate earlier or all the details that kept me busy. I prefer to capture impressions. Those are the abstractions I derive from multiple phenomena. I discern in them that which they have in common, as it was imprinted in my mind.

Whether one chooses to be detail-oriented or not is secondary to the function of a journal as a device for retrospection. We have data points that help us piece together a narrative of our life as it was happening.

The contents of one’s journal are largely irrelevant, so long as they experience at least some of the aforementioned. My journalling is mostly philosophy without the overthinking. It reveals an integral part of my personality. I like sincerity and the ordinary lad. Anything that looks or sounds deep and expects subordination ultimately fails to amuse me. Think of the dog who will pee at the tire of a cheap motorcycle and a luxurious car with equal disregard for social sensitivities and role-playing. Once you get that picture in your head, you gain insight into my worldview: when something is shallow, I do not treat it as if it is profound.

The point of journalling is to create an outlet for honesty. I happen to publish almost all of my writings (except those that contain details of people and places). I do this because it is “hard mode” at the emotional level and I have a highly competitive side that I need to keep happy. Journal entries will typically be private. The outlet for honesty is thus safe: nobody should know what you believe about yourself, what you feel in those moments, and so on.

No matter the specifics, the key is to gradually develop a habit of writing with regularity. In this regard, quantity beats quality. Focus on expressing as much as you can, with a frequency that is high yet sustainable (doing too much too quickly will not last long). In a similar spirit, try to write without succumbing to perfectionism. Let the typos stay there and keep things close to their original form. Your mistakes are a reminder of your imperfection. They keep you honest and grounded.

Which brings us to the heart of the issue: writing is hard. If you have never done it before, you may underestimate how difficult it is to put your thoughts in a coherent order. It is even harder to arrange them in a manner that is both enjoyable and informative or persuasive. The best pieces of writing are those that inspire us to become a better version of who we are. We may say that they touch our soul in what might as well be pure magic. The rest we forget about.

As a beginner, you should not have high hopes about the quality of your output. It will be awkward and clumsy. This is fine. Think of the baby that makes its first steps. It lacks grace in its motions. Do not feel ashamed that your baby steps are sloppy. This is nature: it just is. To judge your preliminary works as “bad” it is to misunderstand them.

What should I be writing about? This is a question whose answer will change depending on your experience. In day one, the only answer that should compel you into action is “anything; just write about anything you feel like”. This too may be vague though, so let me tell you how I did it.

When I experienced the mental block many years ago I pictured the following scenario: I am in the middle of nowhere and am asking where should I go, but I have not even taken the time to describe what is around me. I am looking too far ahead while completely ignoring whatever is in front of me. In other words, my priority should be to identify what my immediate condition is. I must be able to describe my surroundings. Once I have situational awareness, I can broaden the scope to cover a few metres further away from where I stand. And then I will slowly move around, to cautiously explore the space. After every few steps, I will repeat the exercise of acquainting myself with my milieu. Eventually, I will grow in confidence to quickly understand what is happening and to easily relocate without jeopardising my safety.

This scenario helped me understand that before figuring out what I wanted to focus on, I needed to appreciate the circumstances I was operating in. Otherwise I could not anticipate the next steps and get a sense of whether my longer-term goals were realistic.

Concretely, you should write about anything that comes to mind. The easiest, I think, is to describe how you feel right now, what is in your vicinity, how your day went, and the like. Imagine someone you care about calls you on the phone and asks you how was your day: you will say more than one sentence, right? Then do the same with your journal entries: report on what is happening, however inadequate the delivery is.

Once you practice this for long enough, e.g. for six months, you can start adding comments on the more technical or specialised topics that are of interest to you. If, for example, you wish to one day have a blog about programming, you can introduce an aside on, say, Emacs Lisp, and then connect it to something that is part of the immediate reality you have been journalling about. Remember that you are still reporting on things to someone who is not exactly like you, so you want to stay away from the technicalities. You are not writing a paper for an academic audience. Keep it simple.

From the next paragraph onward I provide an example which is true to the spirit of my original entries. My style back then was different. Words did not come as easily as they do now and each statement was unrefined. Still, this example is how I made the breakthrough. Use it as inspiration to get into the habit of writing. Do not worry if expressions do not flow as easily as you would like. Also, do not make the mistake of judging your text too harshly: you are not competing for any award at this stage. Just write and focus on the basic power of consistency. Consistency brings forward the best version of yourself in whatever you are committed to. Do it slow and steady. Be a turtle, if that is what it takes to get to your destination. Check the example below and good luck with everything!

I have been meaning to write for a long time now. But whenever I sit down to express my thoughts, I blank. Even though I have all sorts of ideas, there are no words to explain them. I do not know what to do about it. So I am admitting to my failure. I came here to write something grand and instead I am sharing how powerless I am in the face of a mental block.

Perhaps I am like those lonely guests I used to serve five minutes into my night shift, which would start at 16:00. I would open the bar and make preparations for the super busy hours ahead. Work would start in earnest at around 18:00 and would peak between 21:00 and midnight. Those guys, universally men, would be there all alone. There was no music playing. Not knowing what to do, they would order a pint of lager and just hang at the bar. Sometimes they would chat with me for a while, though not for long enough as I had all sorts of tasks to tend to.

So here I am now. I arrived at the bar and it is too early for party time. I could go back home, else quit, though that would probably be even more boring than just riding it out here. Sure, itt will be awkward for a little while. This is just in my head, anyway. Except I am not at a bar, but in my own room, sitting in front of the computer, trying to write my first journal entry while blanking on what to cover.

Not knowing what to do, I shall describe whatever is around me and take it from there. It is nighttime. I have the room’s light switched on. My monitor’s brightness is set to a low level. I adjust it depending on the environmental light. During the day I increase it and will set it to the maximum if there is direct sunlight.

I am writing this in Emacs. My font size is set to a face :height of 100. This is the Emacs equivalent of 10pt that other programs use. When I do video calls I increase it to 180 to make it easier for others to follow what I am demonstrating. Otherwise I prefer this relatively low value.

My desktop computer is fairly loud. I have not done enough research into the hardware parts. My suspicion is that the fans are too noisy. I imagine there are silent options out there. Those might be more expensive. I may check them out in the future, though this is not a priority. All I am doing here is describing what is happening around me.

Local time is close to 23:00. I have been active from the early morning hours. Today was cloudy again. It will remain like this for the whole week. There will hopefully be plenty of rainfall. The more the better.

The dogs are asleep. We did our usual long walk in the mountains. They ran around and expended all their energy. I am happy to be with them every day, care for them, and set them up for success.

Even though it is late in the day, I still have the energy to keep going. My teammates at the local football club used to call me “the dog”. If you have ever tried to dribble past a dog you know exactly what that nickname is about. I would hound my opponents for the full 90 minutes as if my life depended on it. Playing with me in midfield was fun because I would do all the dirty work while you would engage in glamorous tricks.

Now I am more into nerdy endeavours with Emacs and free software, while I still have the same levels of physical activity. I am not the typical nerd. I did not grow up with computers. Tabletop games are still alien to me. And, yes, mathematics is not my strong point. But I am learning and am having fun.

I guess I also am not your typical intellectual either. I read stories about famous thinkers, for example, only to realise that I am nothing like them. They have these fabulous experiences that befit their genius. At the age of 5 they were versed in the Socratic dialogues, at 12 they had compiled their first collection of poems, and at 15 they were studying at some prestigious college. Me at 5 I was turning my grandparents’ furniture upside down. At 12 I was playing around in the mud and at 15 I was picking fights with lads twice my age on football fields made out of gravel.

Somehow I ended up here. Writing is a means of self-actualisation. What you see here is an example of snippets of thought that pertain to my immediate reality. I do not experience a mental block anymore. Whenever I did, I would circumvent it by reporting on my day’s trivialities.

Minutes past nine. I just returned home from my final walk of the day. The temperature is hovering around 0 ℃. There is some snow at the highest peaks, though not enough for skiing. Tonight is especially humid. I could see the reflections of the faint moonlight on the air. We are almost at the first quarter of the new moon. I put cold water on my face as soon as I entered the house and am now writing this. I feel invigorated to continue after a full day of working and tending to my routines.

Most days since the winter solstice have been cloudy and we have gotten plenty of precipitation. Still not up to the desired levels, but much more than what we had experienced last year. Last night we got heavy rainfall for the first time in what probably is more than a year. I am still used to waking up on such occasions to check on the status of my flood-control project. The infrastructure work I did is holding up nicely. The stream has taken the direction I gave it. Vegetation is growing where I want it to be. Everything is solid and sustainable. Breaking the bedrock in some carefully selected spots was the final touch. I overcame this challenge through careful observation and sustained efforts in the face of discomfort. But I do not rest. There is much more to be done.

When the spirit resigns, the body follows. The other day I met a “neighbour” (+30 minutes away) who is in his early 70s. Less than a year ago he was full of energy, tending to his olive trees and other plants, among many other activities (woodwork and hunting, for example). Now he gave up on everything and remains idle all day. The reason is that a relative of his will soon uproot the trees to build some apartments for tourists… Fuck this greedy world. To deny a man of his projects is to kill him before his time. My neighbour lost the source of his enthusiasm: the grand idea that provided him with the power impulse to act.

When we serve a higher purpose, we muster forces that are otherwise not available to us. We submit to the higher authority, to that which transcends the confines of our ego, to achieve our highest deeds. Such is the awe we draw from it that it gives us strength in the face of adversity. Once things get tough, we do not lose our calm because our purpose is like a fixed position in the constellations: we can always spot it and reorient ourselves accordingly even in the middle of terra incognita.

This is how, for instance, humans survive for decades in warzones while the coddled fellow online has a mental breakdown after reading some harsh words on a forum. The latter is fragile, for they do not think big. They have been trapped in their own little bubble owning to the cumulative effects of bad habits, yet they think of it as their safe space. This is a circle of superficial comfort that necessarily shrinks the more they try to avoid any hardship. Once the self becomes the goal, then the inertial point of reference is lost. There is no lofty standard anymore. Complacency creeps in. Idleness becomes the norm and whatever does not come about easily is dismissed with the help of some convenient ideology.

A friend of mine who had just turned 30 at the time we met remarked that “we are old now” («γεράσαμε»). This is a common saying among defeatist Greeks. The attitude of my compatriots is to let go of all intensity and switch to a mode of rapid decline after their 20s. I do not share that ethos. “No, my friend” I told him “I still have four decades of youth”.

When I was standing at the peak of the mountain earlier, well over a 1000 metres above sea level, I felt the cold breeze on my face. It was dark all around and calm like every winter night. The sky was clear and I could see the quarter moon in the Western sky. It is in these conditions of tranquillity that the soul gets anabaptised as it draws the astral energy to reengage. While standing there I took stock of the work I did today, starting from before dawn. Each project received my undivided attention. I did it with honesty, to the best of my abilities. I was thus satisfied with myself. Tomorrow shall be the same. Such is my outlook.

I feel the responsibility to always put forward the best version of myself; to try things in earnest. Why? Because I do not believe that my deeds are limited to my self. All I do has an impact on the world and those who get to know me. Thus there are consequences that are felt far away from where I stand, including for people I will never meet.

It all starts with my attitude and what it enkindles in the hearts of others. I want them to turn skyward when they think of me. Not to find me. No. I belong to the ground. They must identify that which is greater than them. I embody a timeless message, a reminder if you will. To make them aspire to their highest. To motivate them to not shy away from duty and to never be satisfied with their own mediocrity. When you cheat on yourself, when you renege on a promise you made for your own wellness, find the courage to admit to it and try again until you get the basics right. The rest follows from there, given consistency.

One’s mindset is not the conduit to immortality. Though it is a prerequisite for sustained excellence; excellence relative to one’s baseline. The growing moon is a reminder that there are forces in this world that defy our volition. There is no “if you truly believe it” kind of gimmick that works for them. The moon will be full in ten days and soon the Chinese people will celebrate another Spring Festival. The years come and go. What remains in the cosmic memory is one’s legacy as a source of power for those yet to be.

Winter is the most quiet time of the year here in my mountains. The ever-busy swallows left us a few months ago. I enjoy their presence during the spring and summer months. Every evening they fly all around the area, trying to feast on the various insects. They seem to be happy and I like being close to them whenever I sit outside in contemplation.

The frogs and the crickets are gone as well. I do not know what happens to them. Are they migratory? Do they hibernate? Are their eggs stored someplace safe and will crack open once it gets warmer again? There are so many ways that life forms keep their identity through change; an ever-present commitment to selfhood via incessant course correction, such that what was continues to exist as process yet cannot be as instance.

All vegetation recedes. Most leaves fall and there is no obvious movement above the ground. Yet the juices are still flowing. Pay close attention and you can find the greener spots, the softer parts that still need to expand. Roots grow more dense. They must be ready for the months ahead, to support another cycle of growth. From recession comes progression and then back again. In essence, it is no different to how human history oscillates between the extremes of progressive openness and regressive intolerance.

There is no point in arguing with the world about good and bad outcomes. These are human constructs, which apply to a tiny sliver of our shared experiences. In the systems of systems of which we are but a part, as yet more systems of systems—both as individuals and as collectives—what ultimately applies are forces that bring things together and pull them apart. From equilibrium comes disequilibrium, from imbalance comes balance.

When we try to cling on to any given order, anything we would like to preserve as a constant, be it an individual quality like youth or pretty looks, an event such as a party with friends or a romantic affair, a certain interplay of factors more broadly, we learn quickly that it slips away. The world is in flux. What comes goes. We are no different than the dreams of a puppy, at once a thriving world and a fleeting thought.

Local time is about 10 minutes to midnight. I was outside to do a final check on the new battery for my off-grid solar panel setup before going to bed. That part is working nicely. I have electricity around the clock. As I was about to enter my room, I heard a fox screeching in the distance. It is normal for them to make such noises. I was inspired to stand still for a little while. Even in these quiet days there is motion.

In our hyperconnected affairs, where “me, me, me” is the midpoint, tutelary figure, and secular god of our societies, a simple pause on such a cold night reminds us that we are not important. Not me, not you, none of us. All that is happening out there is not for people alone. The universe is not conspiring to deliver to any of us the state of affairs we feel entitled to.

“What will others think” is a thought that persists for as long as we do not shift our attention to the greater magnitudes. We allow the average Joe to wield immense power over us through something as fickle as an opinion. How can you notice that you are not the centre of the world when your city is denying you the sky? No, this is not a metaphor. It is what is actually happening: you do not observe the stars and will generally not have a good sense of direction. How can you submit to the authority of the greater forces of the cosmos when you do not even witness them firsthand? For as long as you think you are the supreme authority within the nominal domain of your control, you will remain trapped in a web of hearsay.

There are sensible reasons for wanting to fit in. This is a pattern we observe throughout nature. Though we also have the capacity to persevere in uncharted lands as a wolf among wolves. There is no clarity on what to do. Ours is an ongoing attempt at balancing between the worlds of thought and action. Our deeds must be efficacious, while our thoughts need to be clear. Yet we cannot withdraw into a world of pure theory until we figure out all the scenaria and clarify our thoughts to perfection. The body subsists through a series of events. Action is unavoidable. But we also understand that we should not act without thinking things through or, at least, having a sense of the bigger picture we are working towards. Such is our predicament.

With some experience, which is usually painful, and, perhaps a bit of luck, all we can tell is that in the grand scheme of things, the matters we once attached great value to end up being trivial. It is all star dust in yet another one of its transfigurations.

I go to bed now. Admitting to my insignificance brings me peace.

I laugh at the thought that my dogs are polyglots. They communicate in the dog language, which consists of a wide range of vocalisations and body motions. Though they also understand Greek and English phrases, as well as my gestures (plus whatever body language corresponds to the canine equivalent).

Their ability to pick up cues and establish connections is remarkable. They can associate words to situations, thus understanding the consequences of the concept in question. For example, when I am in a video call and I wave “goodbye” all four of my dogs get up and start stretching: they know that I will play with them imminently and most probably take them for a walk or, at least, go outside the house with them.

Dogs have an understanding of past and future. Many years ago, when Atlas would roll in dirt I would catch him on the act and tell him “shower”, meaning that I was planning to give him a wash as soon as we would get home. He eventually learnt to relate the word to its meaning and thus stopped rolling in dirt: he dislikes bathing. To this day, if I mention “shower” while we are on walk, he will do two things:

• First, he comes to me to effectively bargain for a better deal. He will establish eye contact with me and wag his tail. Then he will try to jump on me to reach my face, hoping to lick me. I will then appease him, to acknowledge that his negotiation tactic was successful.
• Second, he will keep a safe distance from me and will go hide somewhere once we reach the house. He remembers to stay cautious, even if what I said was a couple of hours prior. This is his way of making sure I do not renege on my promise not to bath him post the negotiations.

I have not had enough opportunities to teach this lesson to Raizou. Though he is better than the day I adopted him and continues to learn. The puppies, Meelon and Oreeon, still have ways to go.

Intrinsic to the dogs’ understanding of meaning as well as the temporality of events is their capacity to distinguish good from bad outcomes, even in terms of their potentiality. Atlas bargaining and then hiding from the potential shower is his way of saying “this outcome will be bad for me”.

If I promise to go buy their favourite food, i.e. when I utter “meat”, they jump around and bark in jubilation. It is like Greece at Euro 2004 all over again. Then, when I get back from the store, they immediately rush to see what I brought. At this point they can also pick up the scent, so they would not really need to hold any further information in their head. Though I have tested this without actually buying anything, only to see the disappointment in their eyes when they look around and realise I am not holding something.

I thus learnt to only make a promise when I can keep it. Though dogs are not petty. They will let go and revert to their usual ways. This is a quality I like and have adopted as part of my lifestyle. Everything flows by like a river. I hold onto nothing, as I enjoy the moments with what is available to me.

Dogs interpret gestures just as well. For example, I will raise my hands wide open and smile to communicate the message “time to go for a walk”. Usually I do this in conjunction with a loud “walk” call. I express joy the same way they do, because I like how excited they get. Even without the utterance of “walk”, they will acknowledge my gesture and get excited regardless.

Their capacity to discern cause and effect goes beyond direct chains of causality. They can spot an action and infer the intermediate stages which culminate in what they are anticipating. For example, if I am putting on my shoes, without showing any excitement or trying to call their attention, they will still understand that I am about to go out and, therefore, expect it is our time for some outdoor activity. They do not act immediately though, waiting instead to confirm that I am indeed heading to the door.

Plus they have a sense of the prevailing conditions. They will only respond to my actions if they had not gone for a walk a bit earlier or if the hour I am doing something of potential interest to them is not one of the usual times in the day where things are supposed to happen. So if I put my shoes on in the middle of a hot summer day, they will not make the mistake of thinking that we are about to go for a walk. But if I do it at around 06:00, they know we are about to leave.

Observing dogs has helped me improve my communication skills. Once you understand their ways, you appreciate how they mean what they say. Dogs do not send mixed signals. I have thus understood the value of being direct. This is because dogs cannot parse imprecise or contradictory messages. Dogs are a little bit like the Linux command-line: if you are precise, you get the expected results, else you get errors.

With humans we have more leeway in terms of how clear we need to be. Though we also benefit from clarity. Or, to put it differently, we suffer when we get into situations that involve too many incoherent points. This applies to communication at-large, from giving somebody directions on the street to sharing feelings.

Dogs have helped me better appreciate the value of the little things. I too will celebrate with them the occasion of a walk as if we have just won the Champions League. Like them, I stay in a cheerful mood and always find reasons to smile and to laugh. In other words, I am not searching for ways to be angered or to feel upset at something. This is one of the reasons I get off the computer if I do not have work to do and also why I do not use social media. If you want reasons to be sad, the Internet and the news in general will give you an inexhaustible source of negativity. Well, they will do it anyway until you are beaten into submission.

One may think that going out is such a banality that it is not worth the excitement: there is nothing “special” about it. If you ask a random person what they think of “special”, they will try to invoke something grandiose, like a once-in-a-lifetime event. This is because they take what they have for granted. There are lots of phenomena that can occur at the blink of an eye which will deny you the luxury of doing all the little things.

I enjoy what I have access to for as long as I do. I know it is not mine, in the sense that it can be taken away from me without my consent and without me having any power to regain it. I thus remain humble and grateful for what is. I do not dwell on the what could have been. I have no regrets and no big hopes. Even though I am committed to projects, I do not cling on to the hope of certain outcomes. I let go and revert to my present state. If this is how my world is configured, I deal with it. I extend this attitude to everything I do, such as by giving every meal my undivided attention or actually listening to people I talk to. Such is my gratitude for having the little things, the passing moments, the trivia that will not impress those who expect grandeur.

My dogs are not necessarily smarter than other pets. Their behaviour is conditioned by their continuous interactions with me. What I do right is to be consistent. I do not have mood swings and do not say things that mean something else. This way, I teach them the meaning of my language and provide clarity about my expectations.

I am firm in my interactions with them, in the sense that I mean what I say, I know how to get it and whether I should demand it in the first place, and am not fooling around. Some dog handlers justify cruelty in the name of discipline. To me, if you have to resort to violence, then you failed at earlier stages: the perhaps understandable need to act with force is there because you let things spiral out of control.

When people ask me how to deal with their dogs, I say “show me your dog and I will tell you a little bit about yourself”. If, for example, a tiny dog is pulling a big man in all directions, this means that the man has failed to provide guidance. Why that is comes down to many possible explanations, though the point is that the handler must go back to the basics.

Teaching dogs requires patience. If you are rushing things, you are doing it wrong. Why? Because you will be pressed for time, which effectively means that you will not be thinking clearly and you will not be responding well to potential setbacks. Impatience causes frustration and is a common source of more troubles. Taking it slow is how you are taking it easy and, ultimately, how you operate from a position of strength.

Then comes consistency. You must always communicate without ambiguity and must do things right. If you flip-flop the whole time, then you are embedding errors in the dog’s behavioural patterns; errors which will manifest as undesirable attitudes.

There is formal training I do with my dogs, the puppies in particular, though most of the instruction happens outside those confines. The dogs are with me the whole time, not just for the few minutes of the training routine. Consistency is key then. I have learnt to mean what I say and to act accordingly. I thus do not say much, because words are easy while deeds are difficult.

One case of conditioning my dogs to behave in accordance with the framework I establish is during walks where they are on leash. I hold two on each hand and always keep them by my side, never allowing them to move ahead of me. Their combined weight is already more than 120 kilograms. If they try to pull in a certain direction, I hold them back: we go where I want. I have the balance/strength to force them, if I need to, though in practice they know to just be in sync with my steps. We move as a unit.

This is not an inconvenience for them. I do not drag them anywhere they do not want to be. I take them on leash when the weather is not too hot and only after they have already ran around the mountains without any restrictions (there are no houses around me and we move further into the wilderness, anyway). In effect, I make it a positive experience rather than some task I halfheartedly try to check off my list. If they are not feeling it, then we simply do not go. I am in tune with their emotional state, energy levels, and prevailing conditions.

All this is no different to how we interact with people. Dogs may not be as intelligent as us or not have as rich of a vocabulary, though the fundamentals are the same. If, for example, you are unreliable in your dealings with someone, then your relationship, which is the shared magnitude of associations that binds you two together, is replete with doubts and uncertainty, among others. In Greek we say “good deals make good friends” (οι καλοί λογαριασμοί κάνουν τους καλούς φίλους), which we can generalise as “consistency leads to predictability which engenders trust”.

I know how the world works. There will be those who try to fool you. When you can tell that reasoning with them is futile then you have to either leave or be forceful. Though there are people who will appreciate plainspokenness and respect you for not doing tricks and gimmicks.

To the dogs we should learn to be dogs and to the wolves we should be tigers.

Friday, the 9th of January. Noon will soon be upon us. It has been raining heavily since last night. The weather forecast shows that the present phenomena will persist until Tuesday. Late December until the second third of January has been the peak rainy season in the mountains of Cyprus for as long as I have been here. The past year was extra dry. We endured a severe drought and even suffered major wildfires that devastated large parts of the island. Precipitation is a blessing, no matter how much it is. The more we get, the better our chances of having a tolerable summertime.

The flood-control work I have done by the stream that is adjacent to my land has been successful. The land is stable and the risk of damage is virtually zero. Vegetation is growing at the spots that I set up. Some of it is my doing. Plants will consolidate the soil, effectively tying everything together. I have learnt to work with the natural rhythms, to allow things to grow at their time, and to not feel pressure to fast-forward anything into the future. As such, I do not panic in the face of uncertainty and do not get upset when something unexpected occurs during my day. I have stable plans, but am flexible with my methods.

One such case is with the new battery I got two days ago for my off-grid solar panel setup. I was expecting to receive it in mid-November, which would have been a boon during the darkest days of the year. The shipment got delayed a few times due to forces outside my control or that of my business partners. Back then I maintained the view that I am not disturbed by the inconvenience of not having electricity during the cloudy/rainy days. Yes, it was unfortunate that I could not work on the computer or even have the lights open, but it was not actually harmful to me. I survived and remain as determined as ever.

My perspective is that in the grand scheme of things a few weeks or months of inconvenience do not matter, so long as progress is made towards the goals I have set. Indeed, as I am typing this it is dark outside. My computer is working fine and the battery is going strong. I will be able to have video calls (for my coaching) in the evening without worrying that I will get disconnected due to an abrupt power cut (that was my old normal). What has transpired is irrelevant insofar as my present is concerned. To dwell on the past, to complain about things I could not affect and which are no longer in effect, would not only be a waste of my energy but also a source of frustration.

We suffer when there is a mismatch between our mental and physical states. I know to work with what I have and to understand the constitution of the case, such that what I want can follow organically. I do not let thoughts which are not pertinent excite me when my material reality does not justify the excitement. Similarly, I do not entertain negative ideas when there is nothing actually bad where I am. Instead of overthinking, I admit to not know. Instead of trying to cling on to some fleeting reality, I accept that I do not belong in that world. I am stable because, fundamentally, I do not put regrets or aspirations ahead of facts.

I let go when I must. What happened and is to come is like the ocean. There is no way for me to collect all of that water using the tiny bucket which is my conscience and corresponding capacity to manipulate my environment. I thus submit to the sovereignty of the greater magnitudes which inform, frame, condition, or otherwise determine my life. Some will say “nature”, others “God” or “Poseidon”, or a more abstract “logos” or “dao”. Names are symbols, steeped in myth and narrative, which ultimately describe in different words and distinct emphases that which is common in the multitude of events. To focus on the narrative, to be fanatical about works of human institution, and to kill in their name, is to miss the point entirely.

Letting go means that I carry no grudges. I live in my actuality. At heart, I take good care of myself. I know how to love others—in the sense of tending to their needs with the requisite respect but without babying or belittling them—because I have practised extensively with myself. Once you understand that it is essential to forgive yourself, to not be a cruel judge, and to act fairly vis-à-vis your selfhood, you will be able to extend that mode of benevolence outwardly. Moreover, you shall be free to turn your attention to the brightest dog in the sky. You will, in other words, not be preoccupied with distractions.

Not letting go, which is the failure to shift your attention away from the ephemera and their superficialities, ultimately means that you are operating without a sense of perspective. You cannot tell where you were and where you are heading towards. Like a disoriented wanderer in an uncharted territory, you operate from a position of insecurity. Yours is the understandable desire for control as a coping mechanism in the face of fear. Consequently, you disregard the individuality of others as you reduce everything to a function of your troubled ego and of its want for predictability.

Rain continues to beat down. The fact that I have reliable electricity is a nice extra, though by no means a precondition to appreciate the gift from the heavens. When the conditions are suitable for outdoor labour, I will be there to do what I must. And I will draw inspiration from the peaks all around me, to stand tall no matter where the wind blows.

1. How are you so fearless? In the sense of, how do you show your face and speak without fear? Do harmful words not affect you?

I am not fearless. I experience fear like everybody else. What helps me is to not seek validation. I do not want anybody’s approval, do not try to make friends out of my publications, and have no intention to attract followers. If I do get any of those, it is a coincidence. But it is never my goal and I do not pay attention to it. When I write something, I do it to satisfy my inner need for self-actualisation; the want to express myself. Everything else feels limiting and disempowering. When I do a video, such as a philosophy talk, it is a way for me to practice my language skills and to sharpen my technique. Same for Emacs videos: I do them in one go to become a better communicator and to understand the topics better. Same principle for why I share everything I do free of charge (and with a free license): I do not want to get involved in transactions and to placate customers. What you see is what you get and there are no VIPs. That I am also putting something out there which is potentially useful to others is a nice side-effect, though not my main concern.

Because I do not seek validation, I pursue my interests based on what I like and how I feel about it. Many times people have told me that I am not living up to my potential by not doing what the YouTube algorithm wants and by not sharing my publications on various platforms, such as Reddit. I explain that I do not care about those numbers. They change nothing in my emotional state. Public opinion is a distraction. I go where I want and do not ask for approval. More importantly, I am the judge of myself because I agree to only live by my own rules. Allowing another to have power over me via their opinion ultimately runs counter to my primary mode of living as an independent person.

My discipline is a natural consequence of wanting to be independent, hence autonomy as “self-rule” or “rules for oneself from oneself”—and I take my own rules very seriously. This is why I am consistent and stable. If I was not faithful to my word, I will have great trouble living independently: it will ultimately be harmful to me. There must always be a framework in a person’s life, otherwise they are wasted on chasing shifting sands and on doing self-harming activities. The only question is whether this framework comes from outside, as in the form of a parent figure, the family or community, religion and the state, or from within. In my case it is the latter.

So I just behave exactly how I am in person. There is no role-playing, which makes it trivially easy for me to do what I always do. There can be no fear in that, as it is my normal condition: I do not have to think about it. As such, I do not exaggerate the way many people do online and do not appeal to memes. I do not do clickbait and do not try to optimise my content for maximum exposure. For my videos, which are typically very long, I do not even write an outline with timestamps of the topics I cover. I simply do not care about any of that. I just want to be myself and express my creativity through the medium I choose.

Fundamentally, I am appeasing my competitive side. I have competitiveness vis-à-vis my own self. What I mean by this is that I do not allow myself to cheat on my rules and to take the easy way out with some cheap excuse. I demand maximum effort in what I care about (and I blithely ignore what I do not have an interest in). I do not make commitments on a whimsy, but when I do they become my non-negotiable, long-term covenant. My sole point of reference is my past performance. I want to be as good as before or even surpass that. My competitiveness is not outward though. I do not challenge others, do not tell them what to do, and do not check on their activities.

Now, why do I even publish my work if it is all about me? I do it because this is “hard mode”: competition in action. I keep the standards high and prove to myself that I can keep doing what I am interested in. I set a precedent and want to live up to it. That I do my writings/talks “alla prima”, as I have explained before, is no coincidence either: this is the most emotionally challenging way of doing them, as there are no smooth edges and every mistake is on record. I like it this way because it motivates me to try harder and to snuff out any potential residual concerns over judgement from outside.

There is coherence between my method and my outlook: I do not worry about public opinion, so I do not stress about making mistakes, and since I do not role-play there is nothing hidden there that could leak through. It is a virtuous cycle. My experience is lightweight and I am easygoing. If I was doing things for a target audience—an audience that I would be treating as a means for personal gain—I would most probably be stressed the whole time to perform the way others would expect. I consider that a shallow lifestyle.

To the question about harmful words, I do not remember receiving any of those. It may be because I am lucky. Or, more probably, because I do not attract opportunistic readers/viewers. There is a proverb in Greece: “wind gatherings, wind scatterings” (ανεμομαζώματα, ανεμοσκορπίσματα). If you attract easy fans through clickbait, memes, and gimmicks, then you also attract easy haters. I do not get the former, so do not have to deal with the latter. Life is simple this way.

2. Do you not feel anxious when you expose yourself to the public (either in real life or on the internet)? If yes, how do you make it not bother you so much? If no, how do you not care?

I used to feel stress about talking to an audience. The reason was that I was not sure I actually knew my topic. I was fundamentally not convinced that I even deserved to be in that position. Though remember that I am competitive with myself. Stress is not inherently bad in this regard. I use my fear as fuel to become more capable. Again, not to impress others, but to be honest with myself that I did not shy away from the challenge; that I did try my best in the face of difficulty.

If you want to put an archetype on this, it is the side of us that we consider heroic. The hero is the person who ultimately breaks out of their fear to do what the circumstances demand. The hero is not superhuman: they are just like you and me. Everyone has the potential in them to become a hero by transcending the confines of their comfort as they rise to the occasion. I am thus inspired by my Greek heritage to not bend the knee to any despot and to never give up without trying in earnest. One common saying in Greece is “there is no ‘I cannot’ but ‘I do not want to’”. Even though it is not true in every way, it still puts us in the mindset of heroism.

About not being bothered, I already answered that indirectly in response to your previous question. But to connect the dots: I am not seeking validation and for as long as I am happy with my efforts, I do not care what others think. It also follows from what I wrote about being myself, which is super easy to do. You will find that anyone who is faking it or telling lies the whole time, is forced to always check with themselves to make sure that their charade is not exposed through all the emerging contradictions. Dishonesty is a major source of stress. Once you accept who you are, once you stop lying to yourself by trying to the best of your abilities without finding excuses, you operate with lightness and ease.

Else you suffer. You suffer when you are failing because you do not get the validation you seek. But you also suffer when you are succeeding, because you are dependent on the vicissitudes of public opinion; an opinion which you know is fickle and manipulable. Again, “wind gatherings, wind scatterings” as we say.

3. How was it like for you growing up? Were you shy, outgoing? How was your childhood and teenage years? If you had anxiety, how did you overcome it?

To me, shy is somebody who does not express what they really want such as, for example, they say “no” to a party invitation when in reality they want to say “yes”. I am not like that. What I am is an introvert. This means that I am more inclined to experience the world through introspection. I do not try to gain feedback from others. You can now connect the dots about why I do not seek validation and why my competitiveness is inward-facing.

Perhaps it is right to describe myself as the “silent type”, but I am concerned this will give the wrong impression. I have been loud many times and will not hide if I think it is time to say what I think. Though, generally, I only speak when I have something to say and am shrewd enough to not pick meaningless fights.

A common theme throughout my life has been my exuberance. I have a lot of energy and I am innately curious. As a child, this was expressed as unruliness. I would not sit still. For example, whenever I was at my grandparents’ house, I would rearrange the furniture to make games out of my fantasy. Much of my time was spent outdoors, where I would experiment with whatever I could get my hands on.

Between the ages of 6 and 12 I was a relatively good student who was somewhat easy to manage. But as I grew older I became more assertive and less tolerant of control. Due to situations that need not be made public, I was taking care of home affairs at around the age of 13, such as paying bills and going to the market to buy groceries. I effectively became my own person in my early adolescence. This may be why I have a strong sense of duty in what I do, but I will not speculate.

People like me thrive on an open-ended challenge and, conversely, suffer when everything is confined to a perfectly safe environment. School is the latter kind: I loathed it. Whereas football was my life’s passion. I loved everything about it. The physical contacts, the fights that would break up from time-to-time, and the grit needed to train as hard as possible with no exception. What I also liked about football is its unwritten code of honour: players respect those who put in maximum effort and are not crybabies.

Fast-forward to my early twenties and you can understand why I started writing on my website: it is an open-ended challenge that I have been doing for 15 years now. And like with football, I only focus on my own work: I train with intent every day and thus have no regrets. Having no regrets means that there is nothing I am ashamed of, nothing that another person can point out to hurt me.

We are feeble, especially mentally, when (i) we are never allowed to develop our own strengths (e.g. being cuddled the whole time) and (ii) when we do not do in earnest what we are supposed to (e.g. fooling around instead of training).

To go back to the shy versus outgoing question, I have had many friends in my life from various walks of life. I like when I can do some activity with people or just be able to talk with them. But I do not enjoy parties, especially when it is impossible to say anything due to how loud the music is. Though loud music does not bother me: I have worked for years as a bartender at bars and night clubs, after all. I simply do not enjoy that kind of socialisation. I seek depth in connections.

I did not have anxiety as a child. The only time I did was as an adult. It was during a time when I was trying to fit in to a milieu that I did not belong to: that of politics and its bureaucracy. I am a country bumpkin at heart who has no respect for the kind of values that people peddle through virtue signalling. I care about honour, which is about how people are, and have no interest in superficialities and empty words. Politics is basically the opposite of honour: you say what people wish to hear and throw others under the bus to pursue your own ends. I learnt that the hard way. Trying to fit in meant that I was suppressing myself, pretending to not see what I was seeing or not believing in it, anyway. There is no friendship in politics. Your best friend will stab in the back while giving you the most passionate kiss. Trying to create make-belief that there was something to be salvaged in that world is what disempowered me and set me back. I overcame the block by accepting that I cannot become another person and will not tolerate such a race to the bottom. I have since been unapologetic about living my own life my way. If anybody wants to be with me, they should know that I do not boss anybody around and expect the same treatment. Those who think they can control me are wasting their time.

I’ve always been someone very defined by hobbies and interests in the arts and computers: programming, drawing, painting. I loved the craft and the feeling of making something with my own hands.

But I find in recent years with generative AI and image generation advancements, I’m depressed. I’ve never been a professional artist or creator, but it always comforted me that the “artist” or more generally “creator” role existed in society, like there are artists creating things and people accept them and they are somehow apart of the social fabric. As a kid I always looked up to famous artists / programmers etc.

However, I worry with recent technological advancements, this “creator” role will gradually drift away completely from human society. Humans will just become consumers of endless amounts of AI generated content precisely designed for their specific preferences. Feel free to disagree, but I don’t see using tools like ChatGPT or image generation to be a valid act of creation or art.

I agree with you about the impact of AI on creators. Though I encourage you to consider the wider context. Doing so will allow you to better appreciate the technological, social, and historical trends and thus to not feel depressed or worried about a particular instance of them. I also want you to keep in mind the separation between “fine art” and “art at-large”, as it helps frame the discussion about quality and authenticity.

My view is that AI is the latest instantiation of age-old tendencies pertaining to the mass production of art. This is about art at-large. For example, we keep unearthing ancient Greek pottery because, fundamentally, the people of that time had streamlined the production of those items. Each piece would have some practical utility, though all the drawing on its walls were a form of relatively easy-to-produce painting; painting for the masses that also made business sense.

Art at-large is in everything we buy. Consider how IKEA not only sells furniture but goods that have a certain aesthetic. There is a way to their style which is recognisable. Consumer electronics are no different. Apple has made an empire out of its emphasis on design and concomitant marketing. Think of anything that has an interface, from door handles to car dashboards, and you will discern the touch of art. Take any piece of clothing or footwear and ask yourself why is not just blank? Why do we need to add some colours and patterns to it? Why must they be different from each other? And you can apply this thinking to everything around you. The gist is that art at-large has been and will always be subject to streamlining yet retain its nature qua art.

What AI is doing right now can be considered another instance of mass production. Yes, the models may not be deterministic, but they still have this quality of outputting large quantities of art. For our purposes, they meet the demand that has been in effect since antiquity.

Fine art is different though. It is always about exclusivity. If I have the paintings of Rembrandt, for example, then you cannot also have them. For most of its history, fine art was appreciated as mastery of the highest order. When El Greco paints his famous View of Toledo, we do not simply get a landscape, but a piece whose inherent work with the materials is of the finest calibre. The painting also has a meta value, which is the statement it makes in terms of the aesthetics it applies and the subject it has: to work on something other than an anthropocentric theme and thus to run counter to the sensitivities of that specific milieu of theocratic Spain.

With the advent of modern art, the attention shifts to the meta value. The craft becomes secondary. The modern artist is no longer untouchable skill-wise the way its predecessors are. Rather, the modern artist relies on the narrative to drive up the value of the works. For example, Marcel Duchamp took a generic bidet, put his signature on it and—voilà—modern art was born. The bidet is like every other that came out of the assembly line, but that particular one has a story behind it. As such, this is mastery of story-telling above all.

To my mind, modern art has been debasing fine art long before we even had widespread AI. It turned the practice into sophistry, kind of how everything that becomes “too meta” ultimately loses touch with the reality it was preoccupied with. Because the art piece acquires its worth through the narrative that is woven around it, it is up to the spin doctors who run the galleries and auction houses to build up the excitement, and then for investors with a penchant for kitsch to pour in zillions into this burgeoning market of pretentiousness. I say this is a convenient way to inflate asset prices, which can then be used to launder money, avoid taxation through so-called “philanthropy”, “patronage of the arts” and the like. The creator who cares about their craft is pushed to the side and dismissed for the sin of not being sufficiently smug.

I see fine art as something that engenders in us a sense of awe. Take Jean-François Millet’s The Gleaners, for example: not only are they untouchable skill-wise, they also invite us to appreciate the little things of everyday life, to find in them the universals, and to aspire to our highest. Now if a bidet is the best art can give us because some poser declared thus, then whatever AI stitches together is also art. The latter may even have more work put into it… My point is that AI adds noise to what was already happening.

To this end, I feel we have to demand more from artists. Be assertive in calling out nonsense and show its dealers the middle finger.

Even before AI, we had patrons of the arts. Like wealthy people would commission an artist to make a painting in a certain style of a certain subject (e.g. portrait of a family member). However the act of specifying a creative work is very different then actually creating it yourself in my opinion. Generative AI tools like ChatGPT and Sora etc. are very similar. Your not actually creating, your specifying and have no honest “skin in the game” so to say or direct influence in the end result.

The kind of person who would take this over an expertly crafted work was anyway not going to appreciate the finer points or was not willing to pay for it.

Though, again, we have to factor in history so as to not be upset by today’s prevailing conditions. Patronage of the fine arts happened in certain eras at some places. It did not exist everywhere. To make good money as a painter is the exception to the rule.

Which brings me to the point of the reason a person produces art. It ultimately comes from within: there is an inner need for expression and self-actualisation. An artist may be able to make a living selling their works, though that is secondary to the innate inclination for art. And, yes, art may bring social validation and even fame, though those mean nothing if the aforementioned need is not satisfied.

Also note how patronage of the sort you described tends to constrain the creativity of the creator. If I only find meaning in drawing landscapes while the patron wants a portrait which I dislike, then I will have to do something contrary to my aesthetic sensitivities. If the artist has no need for the money, they will likely demand full artistic control instead of conforming with the guidelines of the buyer. Patronage thus becomes obsolete.

Going forward into the future, I am extremely depressed humans will inevitably become more dependent and accepting of AI generated art and creative works.

I will continue with my commentary below, but here I want to make a brief remark. Remember that you do something because it matters to you. We may put it differently: the Muse compels you into action. The fact that others do not heed the voice of the Muse is irrelevant to what you understand as your calling, namely, to make art and to express yourself accordingly.

For example, will people with an interest in creating art in the future be seen as weird and wasting time because “why make a painting, if the AI can make it better, faster, cheaper”?

The history of artists is the history of “weird”. At least modern art gets this part right, even though it makes a mockery out of it. The artist is not a “normal person” because their capacity to produce fine art is a rare trait. Even the ability to make art at-large is not common. This is why we still appreciate elegance, even in matters that are not art per se: elegance is not the norm.

Artists are also not “normal” because they do not agree with the majority view about what constitutes productivity versus wastefulness. To the average person, drawing water lilies with a passion á la Claude Monet is a strange way to spend your time when, say, you could be doing commerce instead, or sport, or chasing skirts.

Once you accept this reality, you will be empowered to make the best work of your life. Else you will forever remain subject to the downward pressures of public opinion. Be bold and unapologetic about your art. Everything else is a distraction.

[…]

There are already people who assume art is AI generated even when it is not.

It is appropriate to call such people “naive”. Why would you allow another person to make your life miserable by simply holding an uninformed opinion? More generally, why subject yourself to the vicissitudes of opinion, at all? Focus on the inherent quality of your interests and make the most out of them. Yes, this means that your journey in certain parts is going to be lonely. Such is the fate allotted to you. The best you can hope for, friend, is to find fellow travellers on your path. Be mentally strong in the meantime by focusing on your deeds.

[…]

Like for example I enjoy programming my own games and making all the art. But I see that maybe in the future we will have AI that just generates the entire game from a prompt or something.

The gaming industry is massive and already has the quality of patronage that we covered earlier. Namely, business drives artwork and programming. Yet this does not prevent you from creating your own games and having fun in the process. Even if AI makes the best games possible at the push of a button, you will still derive joy from your craft. This is true for other fields of endeavour, such as how some of us enjoy making our own bread instead of buying industrial loaf. Or, you know, actually preferring a conversation instead of texting each other.

In conclusion: we have been here before and authenticity will always matter to some. Do your thing and the rest will follow.

It is minutes past midnight. I woke up to the sound of fireworks and the barking of my dogs. Now I cannot fall asleep. I am writing this to express that which took form in my mind; that which will not allow me to rest until I put it out there. Whenever there is a holiday or special event, I am reminded of the fact that I am not like most people around me. I do not share their sensitivities and they do not share mine.

I do not feel superior or inferior to them. I simply am different. What to me comes easily, to them is hard. And to what to them is effortless, to me feels alien and distant. The fact that I live at the margins of their society is ultimately not a choice of mine but the result of natural differences made manifest over time. Like how there is no mixing water with oil, no matter how forceful the blending is.

Society is an admixture of different types of people who are brought together through acculturation. The culture we are immersed in ultimately teaches us how to behave in each kind of situation. It is a playbook, else a set of scripts, that we apply to evolving states of affairs. Acculturation happens organically through imitation and feedback loops that create positive or negative reinforcement. While I was still in my homeland in Greece, for example, we would spend the minutes after midnight of January 1st to write SMSs to everyone wishing them a “Happy New Year” plus some personalised message. I did it many times without thinking about it. Why? Because that is what everybody was doing: it was normal as in “that which most people do by default” but also as “that which is expected of people to do”.

I left Greece at the age of 18 and have not been back since. Travelling and exposing myself to new milieux has had a profound effect on me, which can be summarised as the end of the aforementioned blending. It no longer applies to me or, at least, its power has greatly diminished over the years. Everything started to feel different, as I would interpret the world no longer as a mere participant, but also as an observer. I became an outsider who was somehow in the midst of events. Such is my conscience. My actions acquired a dual nature of lived experiences and observational data. Kind of “oh, look at me right now, writing an SMS to communicate something formulaic; something that at best already covers what my friend knows about me and which I continue to communicate through my genuine attitude towards them”.

Becoming a philosopher is a natural consequence of this underlying arrangement of factors. I ask “why” and proceed to understand the underpinnings of events. My character equips me to do so, especially the independence I have always had. I do not ask anybody for confirmation and seek no validation. If an idea stands to reason, I will my make up my mind accordingly and act likewise. My plainspokeness is a consequence of my eagerness to face up to whatever authority. I do not hide behind elaborate language and esoteric verbiage. In effect, I have the courage to say “this is as clear as my ideas get and I have no fear to expound thus”.

The underpinnings of character are predetermined. Environmental factors amplify that which is latent. As a teenager I argued against my teachers at school and openly mocked their “absurd” pretences to authority. They could not pacify me and I refused to accept “because I say so” as a valid answer. This was the philosopher in me before it came to the fore as conscious behaviour. Why would I be any different now that my powers have been augmented through continuous exposure to the rigours of life?

Being an observer as well as a participant is not inherently philosophical (“friend of wisdom” in the literal sense), let alone wise. It is easy for this perception to underpin a judgemental outlook or, worse, a sense of self-righteousness and elitism. Indeed, for a little while until the age of 20 I was like that. I was lucky to not cling on to my defined views and to ultimately remain dubitative and inquisitive. It is how I grew out of that phase to become contemplative and to withhold ultimate judgement.

Those who exhibit a huge ego have in them the potential to become humble. They are not a lost cause. Though they do need to reach the point of finding that which is greater than them and to recognise it in earnest. In a sense, only once you succumb to a superior force do you accept your place in the world. Ultimately, this is what we refer to when speaking of the divine: the power that no man can force into submission. Whether any given theology or school of thought is correct is ultimately a distraction. What matters is the visceral understanding one develops that there are magnitudes which are greater than their individuality.

A metaphor I have for the different kinds of people is to liken them to tools. Yes, this is simplistic, but is why we learn not to take metaphors too seriously. The point is that there is no such thing as the best tool. Each is appropriate for a specific task or in a given situation. For example, when we need to rest, a comfortable bed is better than an anvil. To cut down wild vegetation we need a sharp blade rather than a hammer. And so on. I too am a specialised tool. A sword, if you will.

I know my strengths and admit to my weaknesses. I cannot, for example, be the heart of the party. More generally, I will never be the right person to perform the functions of social reproduction, i.e. of bringing people together and of ensuring that values are preserved through yet more acculturation. I excel at opening paths and introducing new possibilities. In physical terms, I literally go where others fear to tread. For those tasks I am a one man army and feel inexorable. It is no coincidence that the hut project is a thing: to go beyond built-up areas, to pacify wild land, to work laboriously for what others take for granted, and to ultimately make a decent living that continues to improve over the months through my incessant work. The intellectual side is no different: I am eager to entertain ideas and will challenge anybody, no matter their standing, if I think I have something else to say. More broadly, I have the audacity to examine, which is again a metaphor of going where others dare not to be.

Like all tools, my skills are not better than those of others. What I do best is complementary to instances of social reproduction. A society needs people like me who will identify open vistas and map the horizons; people who will not conform with the status quo exactly because they feel an irresistible urge for adventure and the discoveries it may bring about. There is a part to us as a species that is concerned with staying back to work with what we have and then another part which is eager to take risks and rise up to any monster. A society thrives when it can accommodate both extremes of the spectrum and their permutations, which I may schematically represent as the modes of preservation and exploration. One could liken those to the archetypical feminine and masculine, but I find that such metaphors are ultimately misleading, while they beget avoidable role-playing and virtue signalling.

Societies oscillate between those modes throughout their history, depending on their material conditions. When they feel emboldened to experiment, such as during an economic boom, they reach out to do commerce with people in foreign lands and are receptive to novel thoughts. Conversely, when societies are gripped by fear, like during an economic downturn, they fall back to what they perceive as their baseline and become sceptical of others. Their reflex is to hesitate and to stay back. It is why an economic crisis transmogrifies into a crisis of values. Such is the dynamic between preservation and exploration. Those correspond to “conservative” and “progressive” outlooks, respectively, though not in their political sense as ideologies but in their basic expression as modes of behaviour: to retain and to keep risks at a minimum versus to risk virtually everything for the sake of gaining more in the end.

There is no inherently superior paradigm that works optimally no matter the prevailing conditions. Optimality exists within constraints or given specific parameters. There is no such thing in abstract. Those who believe that their mode is the only viable or beneficial way ultimately stand at an extreme position. It is how one inflates their ego: they believe that they represent the best there is, else that which is inherently superior to others. Once we understand people as tools, each with its scope of application, such an egoistic thought clearly stands as misguided.

Societies that operate too far in either end of the preservation-exploration spectrum lose their edge. If they explore too much, they fail to do the groundwork of establishing unassailable norms, and of having a modicum of stability that contributes to predictability and thus peace. In effect, too much exploration is the equivalent of experiences that are a mile long and a millimetre deep. At the other extreme, a society that is preoccupied with just preserving what it has does not keep up with the demands of life, such as through technological innovation to accommodate growing material needs. Too much emphasis on values, for example, as in a theocracy ultimately means that there is prevalent fear and hesitation to think outside the box.

Societies are organisms in the same way an individual human being is. Just like with individuals, a society that is not working towards something greater than what it has is lacking an inertial frame of reference, else the lodestar in the sky. It cannot orient itself and has no built-in sensor for when it is going off track. When people I talk to share with me their frustration and sense of feeling lost, I encourage them to think in terms of what is their mission in life: what is the grand goal you are working towards? By this, I do not mean mere wishes that we make frivolously, but actual commitments and thus projects that are realisable and we are actively engaged in. Those who are not working towards something great are, fundamentally, not content with their life. This is because absent the fixed star in the heavens, they easily get lost in trivial things. Their inevitable inconsistency undermines their confidence. In the end, they rationalise their inertia as inherent inability to act.

I do not try to persuade people to be like me because I understand that this is not a viable social order. We need diversity of skills and perspectives. I share all my works in freedom, hoping that somebody will find them useful. Though I understand that I will never be a pole of attraction for a community. In effect, my path is that of loneliness. Such is the fate allotted to me and I have accepted it. I am thus empowered to work to the best of my abilities and to not feel the need to fit into some mould. There is no such distraction, no resentment or grief, no pressure to become another, and no stress whatsoever.

Some people, men to be specific, have asked me how it is to live the way I do. I explain that it ultimately is not a choice. You either accept who you are or suffer indefinitely from the mismatch between the norms you have internalised and the reality you are experiencing. I can live this way because, at my core, I am capable of it. And I do so since everything else did not make me happy. I tried for a while to fit in by suppressing my natural adventurer, or the untamed force within, only to feel miserable and broken. If I ever find a wife, it will have to be someone who essentially is like me or, at the very least, does not make the mistake of trying to control me: there is no taming the wolf within. Not only is such a woman rare in global terms, it is extremely unlikely that one exists within the confines of my locality and is even looking towards my general direction. In practice, this is a numbers game that I cannot win.

I thus tell men who ask me about such topics to be yourself: do not pursue something that looks fancy stylistically. I understand the lure of adventure and I know how it is to feel a burning passion for challenge. And yes, I also recognise that some forms of living seem more badass than others exactly because you observe the cool parts while not dealing with any of the costs. The badass quality is stylistic though and you will err lamentably if you choose according to such a criterion.

If you cannot be contained, then you will have to free yourself from whatever container you are in. Though know that there is no inherent superiority in so doing. Forget about role-playing and looking cool. The masculinity merchants who demand from you a certain way of living are ultimately talking about their own self or are just shrewd and unscrupulous businessmen who are taking advantage of you. Be who you are, for all tools are useful. I am a lone wolf and a sword because nature made me so. I never chose my character the way we do in video games. Such is life and the diversity of our species.

On days like this I make the appropriate wishes to everybody I meet even though I personally do not feel anything about those words. Happy New Year it is!

I was wondering what your daily routine is. You seem a very disciplined person. You said you walk 2 hours on average everyday. And your essays on these personal matters reveal that you know how to do what must be done. This shows you understand deeply what Aristotle has said more than two thousand years ago: that one achieves virtue by cultivating good habits. Good habits, as I understand, comes with a daily schedule, which doesn’t need necessarily to be a rigid scheme of time and tasks, but only so that to allow you to flourish and achieve your goals. Since child, I was absolutely obsessed with daily routine. And even nowadays I am interested to read about the daily routines of intellectuals, artists and people I generally admire, bc it seems to me that their discipline is at least partially one root of their success. The same applies to you. I really admire not only your authenticity and personality, but also your achievements, whether in programming, philosophy, building a hut from scratch, or just dealing with usual problems of life. So what is your daily routine?

Before I tell you about myself, I must state the following important provisos:

• What works for one person does not necessarily apply to another. What is benign to one is detrimental to another. There is no one size that fits all of us.
• It is okay to learn from others, though you have to maintain a critical eye for what is effective for you and what is not. As such, you are in a process of experimentation that culminates in your self-discovery.
• If something another person does is not working for you despite your best efforts, do not make the mistake of blaming yourself as a failure. You simply need to find something else that is consistent with your actuality.

Now about myself and the topics you bring up. Discipline is the attitude of sticking to the rules you have formulated for yourself. It comes from within. Discipline is another way of describing autonomy in the literal sense: rule by oneself or rules for oneself. Otherwise it is conformity with the dictates of another, i.e. heteronomy. If, for example, I have declared that I shall no longer consume alcohol, then I live accordingly by upholding my commitment. My word is my contract. If I do not follow through on my stated ends, then I am not honest with myself and ultimately what I say is foolish: I am fooling myself and then telling lies to others. In other words, if I keep reneging on my promises to myself, I cannot be relied upon in general. Similarly, if I willy-nilly come up with so-called “cheat days” where my rules do not apply, I am introducing arbitrariness that can—and typically shall—result in the inapplicability of the rules. I am simply rationalising my lack of effort under the deception of “I will try harder later”.

You mention Aristotle who is an important thinker. Though virtue has been the midpoint of Greek society probably for as long as we know about Greeks. It starts from the ancient hero culture, as embedded in myths and legends, continues with the klephts who spearheaded the many rebellions against imperialism, is found in folklore, and extends all the way to modernity through the age-old concept of philotimo/philotimia that everybody ought to have (the word literally means “friend” (φίλος) of “honour” (τιμή)). Virtue is about one’s deeds: you are what you do, not what you claim. Intentions are ultimately irrelevant if they do not match up to tangible outcomes. Virtue is practical: it concerns one’s impact on the world. It is not about how a person is in their own head, such as in some vague “relationship with God”. Ultimately, virtue is discerned in one’s way of living. The modus operandi and the modus vivendi are two sides of the same coin.

To use the example of alcohol consumption again, if I am honest with myself and thus follow my rules without cheating myself, then I am already in the flow of being honest, of following rules, and of not cheating. When I am invited to the Christmas table, I politely decline a drink saying how I quit it ages ago. There is no hint of equivocality in my statement, which people understand as me being 100% focused on my commitment. Having that capacity means that I can, in principle, extend it to other affairs and even in my relationship with other people. My word is my contract because I am the first to treat it as sacrosanct. I do not fool around and thus exude the aura of not being fooled against. When I treat myself with consistency, i.e. when I do not lie to myself, I ultimately create the conditions of getting the same treatment from others. This is because others see in me what I see, namely, respect.

This is all about basic powers. I do not do things to impress anybody. My deeds do not have a “wow factor” when treated in a vacuum. For example, nobody will give me a job because I wrote in my CV that I have never missed a day of walking in decades. They will probably think I am a fool for even mentioning it! Similarly, no-one will congratulate me for the “grand achievement” of doing my bed every morning. It is not special in its own right, in the sense that virtually everybody can do it competently with almost no prior practice. I am not doing anything fancy in this regard. Of course, I could turn myself into a caricature by boasting about my qualities and making it all a show, but I think that is ultimately a distraction as a side-quest for inflating one’s ego. I just get the basics right and mind my business.

Strong discipline is the cumulative effect of small things done properly, i.e. not cheating or fooling around. This is where habits come into play. The key is to have commitments that you actually care about for their inherent value to you. Otherwise you will be faking it. If you only treat a habit as an instrument for building up discipline, you will ultimately fail. The reason is that you have your rational side saying “I will do this because EXPLANATIONS” while your emotional side is like “those EXPLANATIONS are arbitrary as in truth I have no enthusiasm for this”. You will not go anywhere while such disagreements persist. Consider, then, how habits are established through the initial harmony between the various facets of yourself and persist for as long as that harmony is in place. We are not purely rational agents. And we also are not just spiritual beings. There is a body and there are animalistic tendencies that we have to acknowledge and to couch together with our capacity for intellectuality and art. This is why I reminded you about the importance of paying attention to what works and does not work for you. Otherwise you will be ignoring your inner world and thus sowing the seeds of discord.

About my habits, I start my day by getting out of bed as soon as I open my eyes. I then put cold water on my face. This ensures that I get a healthy dose of controlled discomfort. It wakes me up and gives me that tiny bit of feedback I need to know I am still capable of coping with the challenges. I will then make my bed and proceed to do whatever my duties are for the given day. I will always go for a walk in the morning. The exact timing will depend on my agenda, though it typically happens before I even switch on the computer. There will be more walks afterwards, again, depending on whatever else I have to tend to.

When I have a meal, I do it away from the computer. I take my time to enjoy it in full without distractions. I thus do it slowly. There is no rush. If I have to rush for my meal, then I have made mistakes somewhere; mistakes that I should address as a matter of utmost importance. Because I give my meal my undivided attention, I do not feel pressured by external forces. This calmness carries over to whatever subsequent tasks, which themselves are done in the same way of slow and steady. What emerges is a virtuous cycle of emotional stability: I do not pressure myself, therefore I do not feel stressed, I thus do not run around like a headless chicken, and I then do not feel guilty for failing to do things properly. This is all due to self-respect. Think about how you would allow another person to finish eating at their own pace, instead of forcing them to gobble it all up and leave. If you do not grant them that, then you are being a bully. The same treatment should be applied to oneself.

The “no rush” mindset is strengthened through walking. When you are on foot, you learn to live in accordance with your natural pace. You cannot go faster than that. And this pace is relatively slow. If, for example, I am an hour away from home, I cannot get excited about trying some programming concept right in that moment: I have to wait until I reach the computer. This daily practice conditions me to be patient and to not get upset when my whims are not met instantaneously.

Walking has the added advantage of embedding in my conscience the aforementioned notion of not cheating and also of living with the consequences of my actions. If I am far from home, then I have to deal with the fact that the only way back is by covering all that distance on foot. And if I find myself in such a situation, it is because I made the decision to even venture outdoors. Since the consequences are a direct result of my rules, I make no complaints: this is what I chose for myself and I have the honour of admitting as such.

You will notice again the theme of honesty. I am honest about the fact that I made a decision and I accept that what happened is because of what I did. If I blame the world for what I brought upon myself, then I am lying. If I always find something/somebody else to blame for my shortcomings, rather than me admitting that I erred or failed to have situational awareness, then I still have to ask the hard question of why am I always labouring under those unfavourable circumstances and why did I not have the foresight to put myself in a more advantageous position. This is about having the appropriate attitude of putting your life in order and then owning what ensues.

Going back to my habits, another pattern is how I keep a separation of concerns. If I am meant to work on the computer, for example, I will dress up properly as if I had to go to the office. The reason is that I want to put myself in the correct mindset of “now is work time and there is no fooling around”. As such, I do not take the laptop away from the desk. If I am feeling tired or have nothing specific to work on, then I will not stay on the computer, for that is a major source of distraction and, ultimately, self-loathing. Instead, I will go out and do something that requires a different level of focus. For example, I might water the plants or simply check around to make sure everything in my land is in order. Or just play with my dogs.

I emphasise again the centrality of doing the basics right. Because I do not seek out the “wow factor”, I do not feel envy to try out things on a whimsy. More so when those come with lofty claims and marketing hype behind them. This keeps me focused. As I do not try to form new habits on a regular basis and to break old ones, I ultimately do not have to muster the requisite willpower for thoroughgoing reform. I wrote about discipline before, which is there as a robust backstop, though I ultimately proceed through the automaticities that have formed over time via continuous practice. And I keep doing what I am used to out of a sense of care. Remember what I wrote about doing something for its inherent worth.

Finally, I do not think in terms of quantifiability. I do not keep track of any data, such as logging how much time I spend on a task, how many glasses of water did I drink, and so on. I do not clutter my life with tasks for doing tasks. Nor do I feel the need to manage my time, simply because I do not pursue things that I do not need and so I always have time for what I enjoy. My agenda follows a basic principle: if something is genuinely time-sensitive, such as a meeting, it shows up on the agenda, otherwise it is a “wishlist” entry that I will tend to when I feel like it. As such, I do not fill up my day with aspirations and the concomitant delusion of “I will try harder tomorrow”. I declutter my head by staying true to the basics, which in turn guarantees that I have a clutter-free, slow-paced experience that is benign. The momentum of all those little things being done properly means that I do not actually try hard. There is a lightness to it. It is simple and easy to live with.

I write to understand my ideas better. It is the verbal equivalent of drawing a chart to visualise some data. Ideas that stay in my head remain disjointed until they wither away. When I set out to express something, I do it with the intent of testing its viability.

The very process of writing is creative because of the feelings it engenders. Whether some concept feels right or wrong ultimately does not matter, as both inspire further thinking. The former begets coherent sequences of thoughts, while the latter calls for a review. We can think of those as modes of being that are necessary at different stages. There is fermentation, when things are propagating and bubbling up, and distillation, when the excess parts must be removed and what remains shall be reduced to its essentials. It is not about having one or the other, but understanding the flow wherein one becomes the other.

For me, what works best is to think about something for a while before committing it to a file. There are thoughts that register once but do not stick around. I have learnt not to capture everything as soon as it enters the periphery of my conscience, but instead to allow it to prove its potential worth by exhibiting the quality of persistence. If some idea lingers around, then I act on it. As such, I do not collect ephemeral wishes or poorly considered projects. Very little among the totality of what goes through my head survives.

I find that keeping things with no obvious value around is cognitively burdensome. When I plan my agenda, I only record the genuinely time-sensitive tasks. Those are the meetings I have to attend and any real deadlines I must meet. Everything else is an entry to my wishlist. I keep the wishlist under control. If some task is there for years, then I am most likely never going to do it. More so if I completely forgot what I was even thinking about it and its connection to the wider corpus of my work. In practice, I have learnt to anticipate such eventualities, so I will not even capture the original task. Thus I prevent bad projects from crowding out the good ones.

The point is that I blithely remove stuff. I will even delete journal entries that I diligently wrote but no longer consider useful. Most of those that are worth paying attention to end up on my website where I will likely never read them again. The only reason I publish them is because I imagine someone out there may have a use for them. It is like carefully placing an unneeded yet perfectly functional piece of furniture on the side of the road instead of destroying it. There is a neighbour who can benefit from that item.

The publications on my website are for others. I have no need for them. What I gained from the process of piecing them together is engraved in my brain as the cerebral equivalent of a beaten path. I traversed those trails, found the most efficient connections, and cleared all the intermediate obstacles. The integration of ideas that have been fleshed out is akin to connecting a road to the network. In this regard, I benefit from the fact that most of what I deal with is not sensitive to detail. I only need a small datum to derive the whole.

Decluttering my head helps me stay nimble and preserve mental space for the formation of novel thoughts and the refinement of existing ones. I do not feel attached to my works. Likening them to children (“my brainchild”) is not a helpful metaphor as I am not emotionally invested in their wellness. I treat my publications as fellow travellers I met at the port and with whom I shall part ways amicably.

In a manner of speaking, I travel with nothing but a suitcase. It contains some clothes and the irreducible tools of my craft (well, this is actually how I always travelled as I literally do not keep mementos or any extra stuff). The rest is generated on the spot. Consistent with this lightness is the manner in which I discover derivative thoughts, given a certain impetus. I have a basic concept in mind and start working on it without knowing exactly what I will produce. For example, the idea for this very essay existed long ago as a series of connected dots formed through prior explorations. Now I am drawing finer lines in the space they delineate without knowing exactly what kind of image those will reveal. My focus right now is on the micro level. This idea proceeds from the previous one and triggers the next one. Once I am done writing, I will take a step back and appreciate the macro view. The outline emerges from the body of text, not the other way around. The snapshot of this bigger picture will be imprinted in my head and I will move on to the next project.

I am not in it for the end result. The process of discovery is what drives me. I embark with my boat on the high seas not knowing which shore I will end up on, trusting that Atlas, this titanic mountain range, will continue to uphold my open horizons. I create “alla prima”, a concept I borrow from the history of art where painters choose to apply oil paint on canvas and refine it only while the paint is wet. No further refinement is done on top of dry paint. The result is one that at some level surprises even its creator. This means that I do my work in one go or, put differently, in a condensed state of flow while all the connections are fresh in my mind. I do not dwell on an essay for several days. If I cannot produce it outright, then the fermentation in my head is not completed. I have to wait for longer and only then proceed to distil what has taken form.

The Greek artists used to begin with an appeal to the Muses, the patrons of the arts, letters, and sciences: for them to whisper words that may then be expressed through the media of human communication. This is a helpful metaphor for what inspiration entails. When I am elaborating on something without a complete view of its end state I am in effect transcribing the message of the goddess as it reaches my ears. This way, I admit that “my works” are a reconfiguration and amplification of the stimuli I have been exposed to filtered through the mechanisms inherent to me, which themselves were and are conditioned by the factors specific to their case. To claim ownership over a given thing is to imply that the environment which made it possible is mine too and so on for its environment.

Muses being the authors is the other side of the aforementioned lightness. These are not my brainchildren. I am no more partial to them than to anything I have ever echoed or mimicked. The enjoyment I get out of creativity is all about having presence in my present. I work with what I have and express it without fear of being judged.

Writers hit a block when their conscience is pulled in multiple directions. In effect, they are not mentally at the locus they occupy. These distractions come in the form of competing thoughts that struggle to come to the surface all at once. They are the product of overexposure to stimuli, of rising the temperature too much which accelerates fermentation past the point of viability. They may also arise as concerns about eventualities and potential outcomes, such as the worry of being trolled for something to be published. There has been no publication and no resulting trolling reaction, yet the very notion of it hogs the stage at present time, leaving no room for pertinent thoughts to be expressed.

What others think is not relevant to the publication I am making. Their comments come ex post facto: the work is already done and I have moved on to the next one. I am thus not bothered by the past. If something I wrote is wrong, then all I can do is hope that my future self will have a more refined hearing capacity to better interpret what the Muses are disseminating. I cannot go back and undo what has transpired. I must take it as-is. Worrying about it is a waste of my finite vitality.

With regard to potentially negative comments, I am not disturbed by them. Once we abstract away from their particularities, what they do performs a vital function of reminding one not to cling on to their thoughts. If some comment bothers you, then it tells you a vital truth that you keep avoiding: you are standing on precarious ground. The reason for such weakness comes down to an asymmetry of power where you have grown attached to something, wishing it to be an extension of your self, even though you have no such power over it. Sensitivity then is the flip-side of your powerlessness to integrate with it. You need somebody to remind you that what you are doing is accumulate burdens on your conscience; burdens that may only bog you down.

Besides, the vast majority of comments are not substantive. If what you publish is superficial, then you will receive more reactions, ceteris paribus, due to the low barrier to entry. A 1-minute video will gain more full views than a 2-hour video. It takes less of a commitment to watch the former than the latter. Similarly, a mainstream topic will attract more attention than a niche one. If the material demands a higher level of concentration, which happens when you elaborate at length and specialise, you are effectively ruling out opportunistic commentary. Or, if you do still receive something generic, you know it is not worth your time.

If, then, there are comments despite the high barrier to entry, you can expect them to be fruitful, even when they are negative. The commentator is putting in the effort to make sense of your labour and is giving you something in return. Do not dread such a scenario. Learn to let go of what needs to be left behind and to pursue what continues to elude you.

Consistent creativity is necessarily underpinned by mental fortitude. I am untouchable because an attack on my works can only target a position I no longer hold. What may be visible there is but a trace of where I once was. My strength consists in not identifying with any of those mirages found in my corpus of work. I carry nothing surplus to requirements. With no burdens to slow me down, I am ever in motion even when things get rough. I experience no writer’s block as my momentum powers through any barrier.

At its core, this is an emotional disposition of remaining committed to the journey while standing aloof from its destinations. I know that I can set out to sail the seas, but I cannot control where the vicissitudes of this world’s phenomena will take me. I am subject to them and take whatever comes my way. If I wanted a specific outcome and I was ultimately disappointed it did not happen, I am reminded about the error of my ways. Why would I even believe that the world would bend to my will when I am fully aware that I have no power over it? We set ourselves up for failure when we hinge our hopes and self-worth on a specific outcome.

Fundamentally, I do what my condition renders inescapable. I have accepted what is and do not suffer from what cannot become. As I am creating this, I feel compelled to also record feelings in the following poem, titled “Mermaid” (I will also publish it separately in the Poems section of my website.

Mermaid

It is Alexander's sister
who emerges from the seabed
to warn wanton sailors
that exotic landscapes
shall not free them
from the ocean's spell

I seldom travel. If I go further than a few kilometres, it will be to the next closest city for some essential task, such as to buy a new pair of glasses or take the dogs to the vet. Otherwise, I just stay in my area and tend to my tasks. The journeys I do are on foot. Even though I cover a lot of ground, I still experience the same place, more or less. Life here is largely uneventful. There is some work being done in the surrounding vineyards three times a year and that is all to it. The area is otherwise devoid of human activity.

I do not feel bored. I keep drawing inspiration from the phenomena I witness. Everything in nature is on the move. Each unit in this continuum of life, from the smallest to the largest, does some kind of work. The celestial bodies, which may well be constituents of a greater organism and conscience, contribute to an interplay of factors whose full extent we cannot fathom yet whose manifestations we study in awe. Wherever we turn, there are systems of systems, which themselves exhibit pattern and structure, with feedback loops that constitute language, inherent dynamics that establish rules, and procedures which amount to computation. The processes are comprehensible, the products discoverable, the ends obscure.

Instead of demanding that the world grants me what I want, I learn to observe it and, where possible, to participate in its workings. This inspires me to compose the following poem, which I will also post in the “Poems” section of my website:

The November skies

Set ideologies aside
The flocking crows
shall guide you
to look skyward
where the travelling Sun
paints its November skies

The full moon is high in the sky right now. It glows in a near-white light. The higher it is, the more intense the white colour. Whereas at moonrise and moonset, the glow is of a more yellowish hue. The valley alights on such nights and you can see far away. Moonbathed hikes are among my favourites. There is a special aura to them, like something extraordinary is happening. And it actually is. To think that there is a satellite around our planet, which itself orbits a star, which in turn moves around a specific section of the galaxy, and so on. How many of these relationships have to be in line for me to be here doing this!? I do not take it for granted.

Nighttime is generally more quiet than daytime. Most birds are resting and this time of the year I do not hear any frogs or crickets. The foxes can only be heard during their mating season. Otherwise they operate in stealth. I went for a walk with my four dogs. The puppies are growing each day. Oreeon must be closer to 25 kilograms now. Meelon is smaller. Maybe 20? They are getting along well with my two older dogs, Atlas and Raizou. All four of them are playing tug-of-war and games of chase. It warms my heart to see them happy.

The younger ones can now cover longer distances. Though I am easing them in. Their body is still developing. For now, we are getting used to moving a little further each time, in the mornings and at night. This helps the puppies gain confidence in their abilities. They do not feel overwhelmed by all the new stimuli and can explore the world at their own pace.

Forcing things to happen is when the problems begin. I cannot make my puppies behave like adult dogs. If I push too hard in that direction, I will get adverse results. Their joints will suffer from injuries, due to the increased workload. They will lack the skills they gain through daily playfighting to actually stand their ground when necessary. Their sense of initiative will not be cultivated because they will be conditioned to conform with my forceful whims.

Mine is the laissez faire approach to life. I allow things to come about organically. When I act towards a certain goal, I do it in a manner that respects the natural boundaries. For example, I will give new shape to the land, but still allow vegetation to grow, plus whatever I will plant. This way the soil will never be prone to erosion and I will not have to constantly support whatever structures I set in place. My schemes thus factor in the other forms of life, trying to work with them towards a new equilibrium. Not even the Sun, this luminous body of immense power output, can exceed the boundaries imposed upon it by its nature.

In this slow-paced life, I have the luxury of not getting disturbed by too many events happening in quick succession. When we move faster than our natural pace, we eventually lose our balance, literally and in terms of our perception. This we can understand from the times we have gone on a ride, such as with a speeding motorcycle or a fast car. Our brain gets conditioned to the new normal of everything in sight disappearing from the periphery of our vision within milliseconds. If we get off the vehicle abruptly and try to walk slowly, we find that we cannot control our body the way we normally do. The reason is that the faster pace is setting in place the capacities for tolerating more of the same. Eventually, it also creates the expectation for faster and ever-thrilling experiences. The same happens with fast-paced video games, such as first-person shooters. Once you are immersed in the game, you cannot simply get out and walk slowly. There has to be a period of adjustment in between.

When speed is a choice that can be sustained, then it is consistent with your actuality. Though it often happens that the rhythms of quotidian life are imposed upon us by circumstance and inertia. We do not think about them and allow them to happen, until we eventually find ourselves in a situation where something elusive is upsetting and depleting us. It is the fact that we are pushing against the boundaries, trying to be faster than what our nature has regulated as the viable upper bound. Mental fatigue and physical pain are the signs that we are doing something wrong. Usually we complain about it, but do not act decisively to change our ways. We instead dismiss them as “this is life” and try to find some coping mechanism like the hottest trends with meditation and stoicism. No, this is not some inevitability forced upon you. It is an instituted arrangement of interpersonal relations, underpinned by social expectations, that demands from you a pound of flesh each time in the service of some goal that you can actually live without.

Another aspect of this disempowering passivity towards the fast-paced experience is with the Internet. We get involved in so many online groups or activities to the point of spending most of our day in front of a screen in anticipation of the next notification. Ding! The excitement rises… The stream of information that hits us each day is akin to the highway where seemingly immobile objects around us escape our conscience while we continue forward apace. Nothing has staying power at that point. It is a surface with no depth: a facade of a thing, a simulacrum of an experience. There is the one, now it is the other, succeeded by the next, and so on in what effectively becomes a two-dimensional experience of life. In the blink of an eye, years pass and we wonder what did we even do in the meantime.

When I first started paying attention to the near-static things in my milieu, I noticed not only their beauty but also the benign effect of slowing down. I became more patient and would not be annoyed by something not becoming available right away. I would work with what was readily available and be content with it, instead of feeling dejected for not having that which was meant to be delivered in a just-in-time fashion to my doorstep.

This is happening right now, for example. I have spent the last two years working towards upgrading my off-grid solar power setup with a new battery. In the meantime, I have had to make compromises of not using the desktop computer past the late afternoon and of not having electricity at night and early in the morning. Instead of complaining and suffering the torment of blaming my tough luck, I accepted that things are happening organically and I may discover enriching activities of an alternative sort. My adaptation has thus been graceful: I did not insist on having one specific set of factors and allowed my mind to be open to new possibilities. This has allowed me to be stronger and more resilient.

I have learnt to compartmentalise my activities. In the past, I would listen to music in the background while writing or programming. I eventually understood that this was a bad habit from the time I was conditioned to a faster pace. My being was yearning for that stimulus because it was effectively addicted to it. It would not tolerate the relative calm. My greater mental fortitude, which is the product of slowing down and living within my means, allows me to be in control of my feelings. I now listen to music with intent. I give it my undivided attention. It happens when I want to and involves my participation.

The same for the devices I use. Long ago, I would type on the laptop for hours on end. When I would feel tired sitting at the desk, I would take the laptop with me to the couch. Eventually I realised this was not conducive to a separation of concerns. I was not allowing myself to have clear delineations between work and rest and was ultimately less productive and less energetic. The laptop stays on the desk. If I ever need to go do some computer work elsewhere, I will take it with me. But it will always be a regulated usage.

And the same for my exposure to the Internet. I do not passively consume “content”. If I watch a video, it is because I am interested in learning something or listening to a conversation. If I read an article, it is for similar reasons. Otherwise, I am not keen on “catching up” with whatever the news is, nor am I curious about the current vaunted thing that everybody is hyping up. I do not care about the latest controversy and so-called “drama”—such a nice Greek word that we are now associating with tempests in teapots. I am not in the business of accumulating Internet points and the ephemeral validation they promise. When I am done with my work, I shut down the computer and go outside.

Many of our world’s dominant beliefs involve some form of escapism. They tell us how this life is somehow problematic or undesirable and that there is another realm where our existence is of a noble kind, provided we meet certain conditions. My world-view is different. It unfolds without expectations about future lives and potential worlds. I do not feel compelled to believe in anything other than what I experience. I do not sense the need to be anywhere else. I remain present in my presence, a hero in my struggles who faces the challenges with grit and tenacity. If there is another reality, I will be present in it because such is the necessity of being.

Slowing down has empowered me to accept this life first and to delve in its bottomless depths, before seeking another. I am not distracted away from what is pertinent to my environment. There is no disturbance within me, no pressure to force things into becoming. I am like the stones and the canes around me. They are endowed with musicality. In them there is structure and pattern, as they echo the cosmic rhythms and sing in concert the song of the stars. They are partaking in—and influenced by—processes beyond them that interface with their internal mechanics. I am no different. Not anymore special that each presence here. I do not pray to any universe to conspire in my favour.

The moon moves to its next phase. November is upon us and December will follow. There is less green all around. The same place is never exactly the same. It is ever-changing and I have developed the capacity of appreciating it. To what end? Why would I even worry about the end when I am still here, my friend?

Local time is past 21:00. I am writing this on the laptop. It still has about 30% of the battery left. I got off the computer at around 18:00, when the electricity ran out. These days it is hard to keep up with my email correspondence. During the day I need to do my online meetings and maintain all the free software I have. There simply is not enough daytime for everything. I spent two hours in the morning just to bring the unread message count down to 4, only for it to rise back to double digits.

When electricity is available throughout the day, it is easy to cope with incoming emails because the workload gets distributed throughout the day. Whereas it is mentally taxing to start the morning with the digital equivalent of paperwork. And even if I put aside the willpower it takes to do this task, there are mornings when I cannot commit to it due to other responsibilities. At any rate, things will return to normal once I get and install the new battery for my solar panels. I expect it to happen in a couple of weeks or so. The long wait is almost over.

A strength of mine, which is probably a weakness too, is that I do not chill. When there is idle time, I will come up with a job to keep me busy and I will do it in earnest. Or I will go for a long hike, which is not exactly what people mean by “chilling”, anyway. At 18:00 it was already night outside, yet I decided to resume the infrastructure project I am currently working on. It is about placing large stones at the perimeter of my land in an attempt to inhibit soil erosion caused by rainfall. I was encouraged to do this at night because the near-full moon was out. I could see clearly. Otherwise I would not have taken the risk. When the moon is full, its rise roughly coincides with the sunset.

The drought continues. October went by with a single day of precipitation. That was a blessing, as we had not had rainfall since the early Spring days. But it does not suffice. The dry soil is prone to erosion as there is not enough vegetation to hold the surface together. The most common grass we encounter practically everywhere prevents a lot of damage. Absent that, these rocks are meant to perform the same function. I dig around the edges and place each stone in such a way as to turn whatever tiny water flow inwardly. No realistic level of precipitation will ever cause any issues. The objective is to not allow the formation of slides, which eventually turn into fissures.

The rocks are but a piece to the puzzle. I am expecting at least some grass to grow around them and get tangled up with them, at which point my makeshift perimetric alignment of stones will become virtually unbreakable. Whatever irrigation water I can spare will go this cause. I have done this before with the land adjacent to the stream, where I placed all sorts of obstacles and then waited for wild vegetation as well as the canes I had transplanted to do the rest. In short, I can now sleep safe in the knowledge that the threat of floods washing away my land is practically nullified.

I am sourcing the stones from the surrounding area. There are plenty of them in the mountains. I roam around with the handcart and pick up as many as I can. Sometimes I find really large boulders, which are extra useful for my purposes owning to their greater bulk and height (e.g. 40 centimetres). They are practically immovable. A few carefully places boulders can greatly reinforce my infrastructure. Plus, they look nice in alignment. I call this “Cyclopic masonry”, even though it is not a fortification per se (nor are the slabs as large as what the Mycenaeans had).

A boulder I brought into my land tonight was so heavy that I could not lift it off the ground to put it into the handcart. I had to lean the handcart to the side, roll the boulder in, hold it in place, and then lift both up with some leverage—an extra difficult and dangerous endeavour. Pushing that massive chunk of rock uphill was another major challenge. I had to take a few breaks but I did not give up. Once I brought the boulder close enough, I rolled it little by little to the exact spot I wanted it to be. Mission accomplished!

Pushing and pulling heavy weights around the mountains demands dedication. The terrain is uneven. Whenever there is a bump or minor turn the hands suffer from the extra tension as you have to put every ounce of strength into keeping your balance. To lose one’s balance in this situation is risky business. In the good scenario, the rocks will fall to the ground and you will spend a few extra minutes collecting them all again. Each weighs several kilos. In the bad scenario, you get seriously hurt. Manual labour does not require a lot of planning and thinking the way many office jobs do, though your safety is a function of your levels of concentration. Be absentminded and you shall get injured.

I remember the first summer I did construction work. I was studying at the university back then. I would carry heavy burdens like those I did today. Except that the unforgiving July sun was high in the sky. Not only was it physically painful, I had to remind myself why I was doing this. Otherwise I would not have had the mental fortitude to persevere. The job was paying handsomely and I needed the money to finance another semester of studies. This is not what people have in mind when they talk about “student life”. It is what I was doing though.

Construction work was never fun. I kept at it by reminding myself of the greater goal: to proceed with my studies. I find that it helps me to keep things in perspective, else I might develop tunnel vision. It also is benign to have a grand objective in mind, for it functions as the lodestar in the sky that orients you in moments of doubt. The hut project is the same in this regard. I know what I am setting up here and thus all the intermediate difficulties do not deter me. I am inexorable because my goal is clear and my commitment to it is devoid of doubt.

Whenever I exert my body to see through these physically demanding tasks, I draw strength from my longer-term vision. It does not make me superhuman, though it empowers me to not fool around. I am not ambivalent about it. My poise is perfect. I am not trying to negotiate with myself some exit clause, some “cheat day”, as it were. No. I am not asking; I am telling: I have to do it and shall do it. Then, when I look back at what I have achieved in my homestead and how this is becoming a beautiful rural house, I find solace in the knowledge of the originary struggle of acculturation. I know that nothing can be built without vigorous efforts and nothing can be sustained without intensity.

The Greek national anthem has this verse in reference to liberty, which I am hereby translating faithfully:

I know you [liberty] from the cutting edge
of the sword, the mighty [the mighty cutting edge]
I know you from the sight
that paces the land with violence [with haste and with violence]

Violence is a misunderstood term because people take their culture for granted. Just love and be happy is the common talking point. Sounds pretty and cute, until you think it through. These people do not realise that what holds a community or civilisation together, indeed, what gives it its impetus and endows it with rejuvenating qualities, is the eagerness to combat other forms of life and to struggle against inertia. Individuals and cultures that become complacent experience decline and are ultimately consigned to oblivion. Even love is exclusive and uncompromising. Not some hippie conception of love, but the everyday form that allows us to even be here. For example, motherly love for a baby involves extreme prejudice against potential threats, such as venomous snakes and poisonous spiders. It demands a safe environment where there is no disease, no vectors of attack, no unknown quantities. In love there is an inherent requirement to have situational awareness, to measure the place with decisiveness, and to mould your immediate milieu to fit your needs.

Not everybody needs to be extra alert and unyielding. That sort of prescription is untenable. One size does not fit all and we do not benefit from role-playing fashions to conform with some arbitrary directive. “Be a man!”… Such empty words or an exhortation for a certain kind of consumerism. All we need is to learn to tolerate those among us who have the natural inclination to do the groundwork (figuratively and literally in my case). You cannot be another. You may only accept what your condition renders inescapable.

I remember when teenage me was sent to the principal time and again because I was unruly, would brazenly leave my books under my desk, never do any homework, talk back to my professors and mock them when they appealed to their authority, and even showed them the middle finger when they insisted. In hindsight, the principal was a wise man because he understood that I was not a criminal element, but only somebody who sought a different challenge. School was incredibly dull and I did not accept sitting quiet for 8 hours straight and then parroting whatever the teacher wanted to hear. Some people can operate this way, which is useful for concerted actions and a harmonious coexistence. I speak my mind boldly and stand my ground unapologetically, which is also necessary in small doses to not fool ourselves in our little echo chambers. Some people thrive in a controlled environment. Others seek openendedness, since it is the only inexhaustible outlet for their energy. Nature is taking care of the distribution of these proclivities. We figure out how to not be judgemental about them.

The principal said to the council “Protesilaos is a lost cause when it comes to schooling, but he is philotimos.” The word “philotimos” stands for “friend of honour”. The principal saw a pro-social quality that would remain central despite my disobedience. An idiot of a principal, the kind of bureaucrat who hides behind the letter of the law, would have made an enemy out of me or had asked to diagnose me with whatever condition inconsiderate doctors are inventing for teenage boys nowadays because they cannot fathom the creative potential of innate exuberance. This is the social equivalent of remaining a prisoner of your comfort zone. It is how societies lose their edge. You have to let people go where nobody treads. This is how we push the boundaries and remain vigilant.

I am not inherently unruly. If I say something, I do it. There is no reneging on my promises. But also, I do not talk big and promise much. My word is my contract. What I did at school (and not only) was to resist heteronomy, namely to be ruled by others on grounds that appear to me as arbitrary. I have autonomy, in the dual sense of “self” and of “rule”, as I conform with my own dictates, expect consistency, and accept the consequences of my actions. This is discipline. It is what keeps my attention fixed on my projects through thick and thin.

The boulders are in place because I have a grand plan of how everything fits together. At its basis is my eagerness to proceed through compounding deeds. Tomorrow I will carry more stones. Another moonrise will light my path and I will be ready to experience it.

Local time is 19:20. I am typing this on the laptop. I will be without electricity in a few minutes. Days are getting shorter and I keep losing effective “power time”. More so when it is cloudy. Power will come back close to 08:00 tomorrow when the sun rises. It is harder to schedule meetings and to work on projects that demand several hours of uninterrupted computer activity with access to the Internet. In short, this is a state of affairs that is not convenient. It has been going on for too long already. Yet it does not disturb me. I understand it is part of a longer process of self-actualisation that has seen me relocate to my own house that I built, tend to my land and, yes, face the consequences of my actions with courage and confidence. This is what I chose in full conscience that it would not be easy.

Challenges and setbacks do not distract me from my original goal: to live in a manner that makes sense to me; a manner that is consistent with who I am. I like that I have to assume responsibility for my deeds and that I do what I must without expecting external validation. I appreciate that I cannot avoid my duties and that the here-and-now of my presence comes with material implications. It makes everything feel more real because of how consequential it is. If I become lazy or distracted and do not do what I ought to, then there is nobody to pick up the slack. The world has a logic of its own. It is not waiting for me. If rainy days are coming, then floods may happen. Thus my flood-control initiative must be timely and thorough. Through hardship and the controlled discomfort it entails, I avoid complacency.

The electricity constraints have been with me since I first got here a bit over two years ago. I expect to have a new battery in ~1 month. It will make it possible for me to rely on electricity from my off-grid solar panels throughout the day or, at least, for many more hours than I do now. I have been working towards this eventuality from the beginning. I knew my original setup was not the best one possible. Yet I had to be pragmatic and to make maximal use of the available resources, adopting an incrementalist outlook of iterating on the quality of my infrastructure whenever possible. Two years later, after saving the money, I am realising my ambition. The hut is on track to be a decent place by the average standard and I remain committed to put all my energy into making it happen.

Committing wholeheartedly to longer-term projects has a benign effect on me. It reduces the cognitive burden of always having to decide what to do with my available time, as the decision has already been made for me. Since this decision was adopted with full faith in the project, I do not feel unsettled about it. It is not like being ruled by another. Indeed, that would make me rebel. It is about discipline. If I am consistent, if my ideas are clear, if I am thinking things through, then what I thought of as appropriate in the recent past will continue to be so in the immediate future, for as long as the prevailing conditions do not change radically.

Nothing in life is purely good or bad. Ours is a world of admixture. It is then a matter of degree and of finding the right balance: I do not want to have so many commitments that I become a slave of my prior plans. Though I do need to tend to projects that require upkeep so as to keep myself sharp. For example, I know that I will be going on a walk with my dogs in the morning and then again in the evening. There is no uncertainty. It is stable. There is less scope for doing things on a whimsy; things that are typically not thought through. As such, it is less likely that I will have to live with the consequences of actions that I harbour regrets for.

I am aware of how surplus energy is inevitably misused. The idle mind will find ways to create some adventure out of the dull moments. It reacts to boredom without working towards anything specific. There will be no framework, no bigger picture to speak of. Because of how haphazard the reaction is, its effects will most likely not contribute towards something worth keeping. Cumulatively, unfocused and ill-thought deeds create impediments to our life and engender a sense of self-loathing. Those we can avoid when we channel our vitality to anything that demands long-term maintenance. Then there is little room left for self-harming one-off events. Even if they do happen on occasion, they are not frequent enough to throw us off balance.

To commit to something is to remain focused on it. It is to be unequivocal about your feelings towards it. You do not go back and forth, nor remain indecisive. No. You carry out your responsibilities with alacrity. You do it because you are consistent. It was your choice, which you should have considered carefully. There is no going back. When you catch yourself faking it, when you realise that your heart is not there, you know that your commitment is tokenistic and of an aspirational sort: you would rather be doing something else, yet pretend to be caring for whatever reason. The honest thing to do is to quit until you find something that is genuinely emanating from within.

I am committed to my lifestyle. No regrets; no apologies. I am aware of its constraints and am living within my means. Whatever costs are clear and I accept them. There is no second thought that occurs, no “what if I do this instead”. I do not get distracted. The focus empowers me to have a clear idea of what each day involves: spend quality time with the dogs, work on the computer, continue with whatever infrastructure or gardening initiative, and then figure out how the remaining free time is to be spent.

What I am not committed to and ultimately what I remain aloof from are specific outcomes. There is a distinction between commitment to projects and commitment to results. The former is within my control, assuming the project is realistic: I do my part in earnest. Whereas I cannot control the prevailing circumstances that inform or determine any given state of affairs. I may be enthusiastic about my manual labour tomorrow morning, though the weather might be rainy. I will not feel dejected and shall not complain about the fact. Instead, I will check back again when the prevailing conditions are favourable. If they never go my way again, then I shall accept that as well and try whatever I can within those new circumstances.

Situational awareness is the key, else to pay attention to the factors whose interplay constitutes the given case. It is how one remains adaptable, for you can only change in response to the known, optimising for what is or is very likely to be and to become. This is about having presence in your present so that you anticipate when to correct your course and be aware of the extent to which such an adjustment is necessary. Too much adaptability is not “course correction” anymore, owning to how disjointed the results will be.

What was before and what might come in some distant future are ultimately irrelevant, as what matters is my current action. The plan is still there, as is the memory of what has transpired. I do not forget where I came from. The experiences along the journey have forged my character and made me who I am. Nor do I lose sight of the objective: it is my lodestar. Again, there needs to be a balance. Think of when you go on a hike. You do not just orient yourself by observing the stars. You also check the terrain to confirm that you are safe in your steps. If your eyes are fixed on either the sky or the ground, then you are doing it wrong, and shall be punished accordingly by sustaining an injury.

Commitment, then, is about projects not results. I give my undivided attention to something that springs from within. I see it as my duty to put forward the best version of myself. I am not going to fool around, to dither and delay, to be absent-minded, and to find excuses for my ensuing sloppiness. This is how I conduct myself in honesty. Whatever happens beside my kernel of control is governed by superior forces. I cannot beat myself up when the world does not bend to my will or conspire in my favour. The cosmos does not revolve around me. I am not special in any way. When things do not go my way despite my best efforts, I remain calm in the knowledge that I did all I could until I faced pushback from greater powers.

What I will be upset about is when I give myself license to cheat, to pick the ostensibly easy way out whose pernicious costs are hidden, to pretend that there are no consequences for ill-considered actions, and to then rationalise my conduct as benign and desirable. I demand commitment to projects because I expect conscience of the fact that as embodied minds we cannot escape into a domain of pure thought and must instead subsist through continuous actions. There is clarity of thinking, which is clear enough to be practical. “Practical” is that which pertains to “praxis”, the Greek word for action. It is sufficient comprehension of the relevant magnitudes, such that the impetus is there to be decisive and unyielding.

I do not promise myself much and keep low expectations. When I say something, I mean it and shall do it to the extent I can. Tomorrow is another day of carrying out what I have committed to. I shall reinforce a staircase I built on the side of the hill and then set up support structures for grapevines that are growing on the side. The vines grow quickly and will climb on the rods within a few months of springtime. I will tie ropes from one end to the other to guide their growth. By next September, there will be grapes to collect, all laid out along the staircase. I am happy to witness the workings of the world and to know that every patch of land here embodies hours of my most sincere labour.

There was a period in my life when I was more self-absorbed. I would live “in my head”, where I would entertain scenaria about my highly uncertain future. A large part of that activity was committed to troublesome matters, such as how to have relative financial stability in the wake of the economic crisis. I was concerned about my employment prospects and was wondering what kind of skills I would need to acquire to remain competitive and, thus, employable.

Money is not happiness, though living below the baseline means that many common activities are not available to you. You start feeling shame when for the Nth time you tell people “I cannot make it today, because REASONS”. It also has implications for your everyday mood, as you are persistently stressed about making ends meet and paying the next month’s rent. What adds to the self-doubt is the power dynamic between you and your landlord: the person who has the power to make you homeless, given your difficulties. A recurring nightmare I had back then was me escaping from some dogged pursuit with nothing but a backpack that contained a few clothes. Those were all my belongings and there was no place for me to call “home” as I was seeking a new hideout.

I realised I should not stay in a room until I could sort things out. Doing so would reinforce the tunnel vision. Instead, I committed to venture outside as much as possible. The pretext was to take pictures of as many scenes as I could, with the point-and-click camera I had purchased for this purpose. My trips took me to increasingly distant and unfamiliar places. I would leave my apartment in the morning and return at night, walking aimlessly in urban and rural settings. It is as if I was searching for something that could not be described, let alone named. I was lost, with no obvious way to improve my situation, while I kept overthinking the same themes to the point of exhaustion. In effect, I was a dead man walking.

In one of those excursions, I went off the beaten path into the nearby woods. I had the camera with me, which I used to take a few shots of fallen trees and wild vegetation before falling back into my now-habitual tormenting cycle of anxiety and self-loathing. The day passed by so quickly. It felt like I was there for only a few minutes, but it must have been closer to four hours. I had no good understanding of anything in my midst. Physically I was “there”, but mentally I had checked out.

It was sunset already and everything around me was getting darker. The place was extra quiet. Back then, I had no experience with the great outdoors. I could not recognise any of the plants around me, had no trusted people nearby, was ill equipped like a casual tourist, and did not know what I could be dealing with in such an unfamiliar territory. Alertness then came to me. I burst out of my little bubble, as if I had just woken up from a bad dream, and started paying attention to my surroundings. Everything felt poignant and proximate. I started noticing the humidity and the direction the wind was blowing. My breathing was deep and stable. I could hear the sound of my steps and immediately figured out the path that brought me to my current location.

At no point did I panic or sense fear. Instead, it was as if I had rediscovered a primal force that lay dormant inside of me; a force of immense potential that rendered me the dominant power in the forest. Rather than worry than I might fall pray to some predator or incur injury out of inexperience, I moved swiftly and steadily back whence I came. At all times I was fully aware of my environment and was determined to do what was necessary. In my head, I was the apex predator that even wolves would run away from.

The walk back home was unlike the others. It took me several hours and I remained vigilant throughout. Once I reached my apartment, probably past midnight, I prepared tea and sat at the table to reflect on what had transpired. I did not literally transform into some mythical beast, but I was clearly not the same person for a little while. Something special had happened that I was reluctant to admit yet was unable to deny. It is as if my entire being conspired to flip a switch that turned me from a pitiful introspective lost soul into an inexorable force of nature.

What I realised then and gradually embedded in my life as my new normal is the importance of situational awareness: living in the here-and-now of your immediate reality. Instead of playing out scenaria in my head, I remain focused on what is and work with what I have. By discerning the patterns in my vicinity and by examining their nuances, I am able to remain anchored in a world that is not a function of my innermost worries. My plans are thus clear and limited in scope.

I have lived through the unsettling side of introspection. The deeper you go in your own thoughts, the more likely it is you discover something of profound value, yet you also run the risk of incurring a great deal of suffering. You lose touch with the magnitudes around you and thus everything becomes a figment of your fears.

The Greeks have poetically captured this phenomenon in the archetype of Hades, the god of the “underworld” or, as I prefer to put it, the spiritual world. Hades rules over dead people, i.e. disembodied souls. The soul is separated from the body at the time of death. The corporal presence withers away, while the soul remains intact. Hades, then, is responsible for the cosmic order that holds separate the realms of embodied and disembodied beings. He is also known as “Plouton” (Πλούτων), with “ploutos” (πλούτος) being the Greek word for “wealth” (e.g. “plutocracy” is rule by wealth or rule by rich people). It is no coincidence that the god of spirits is also the god of wealth. Immaterial riches in this case. We do enrich ourselves by being “in our head”, in the sense that we gain insights that are otherwise not available to us, either whenever we reflect on our condition or think through certain issues. The spiritual person is a better version of themselves. Such is their greatest treasure. My daydreaming days were not bad in this regard, for I became wiser.

Hades enforces the separation of the worlds with no exception. Whenever a mortal goes too deep in their own thoughts, whenever they forget that they are not just a spirit, this god will remind them of their place. It is as if the god is telling us “you do not belong in my world, human, go back to the living”. If we do not heed the call, we will end up at the gates of Hades, where the mighty Kerveros (Cerberus) awaits. Artistically, this is when we are struck with suffering in the form of depression. It thus is no coincidence yet again how the stereotype of the embattled genius has come about. The deeply thoughtful person, the creative mind that is not satisfied with banalities, keeps moving closer to the boundary that Hades holds in place. Therein is the hard-to-acquire wealth of intellectual and spiritual refinement, yet there also lies suffering and death.

We are not made to befriend Hades. Not in this form of being, anyway. The greatest challenge thinkers face is to remain anchored in the world of the living, i.e. to have situational awareness, while still doing what their mind renders possible or even necessary. To me, the pursuit of intellectual matters is not a choice, but a precondition for calm. If I am forced to remain silent and to conform with whatever conventional truth, I will either explode in anger or implode in grief. What we occupy in the here-and-now is the world of deeds, of immediate challenges and struggles. It is the domain of Poseidon, as I explained in a recent entry in the “interpretations” section of my website: Interpretation of “Enchantress” by Protesilaos (2025-10-09).

Students of philosophy have these formulaic ways of going about things. To every statement they will ask “but what does X really mean and how can we truly know anything about it?”. This is how they drag you into a never-ending conversation that invariably pushes you a step closer to mental breakdown. “Really” and “truly” are the most dangerous words in a question. I am not a philosopher in this regard. I am content with the indeterminate, the nuanced, and the grey. Mine is the way of the animal: to go with the flow of my senses and to commit the deeds that follow from my intuitions. “Deeds” is the operative term. I work with a certain urgency, owning to the fact that I cannot afford to remain in a domain of theories: my body will rebel and punish me accordingly. Indeed, I pay attention to my entire being and do not consider any one facet of it to be superior to the others. This is what Hades demands.

Once you rekindle the wolf within, once you understand that being human necessarily entails being the apex predator of this planet, you no longer wish to be one of those students. Your calling is not of an academic sort. What you think is what you commit to, what you say is what happens. Thus, you do not talk big and save your words for when you have mustered the energy to reshape your milieu. To be a man of action, while retaining your intellectual capacity, is all about balance. Think things through, but learn to focus on a given project. The details of it do not need to be predetermined from beginning to end. Make sure you have a clear destination and that your means can take you to it. The rest follows organically.

There was no immediate change. It took me years to dismantle my old ways and establish new ones in their stead. I had no grand plan, no tutelary figure or trusted counterparty, no all-encompassing worldview with which to model my new life. What I knew was I would no longer tolerate the stress-inducing elements in my day-to-day affairs. Chief among them was the mismatch between responsibility and ownership that I had at work, namely, the fact that I would be held accountable for all sorts of duties that I had no say in and power over. Next was the tacit want for validation, in the form of doing a “decent” job. I would have none of that, tending to my wellness and vitality instead. Prestige is a poor substitute for inner peace. It also is an effective distraction from the deep-seated insecurity of not having gone off the beaten path and not having lived in earnest as the fully actualised version of oneself. I wanted only the latter and was poised to go where my powers would take me.

The other major change was to be forceful where necessary. Recent examples are fresh in my memory. Once I was doing a job interview in which I was asked “why are you passionate to join our company?”. This is a manipulation tactic to appeal to your inner “good boy” so they can unscrupulously exploit your sense of loyalty and friendship with impunity whenever they feel like it. It had happened to me before where this boss, pretending to be a friend, had asked me to work longer hours without remuneration. I agreed to it because “that is what friends are for” only to eventually get thrown under the bus. Either you have a superior or a friend. Not both. Not when the business has its own logic and you are replaceable. “Look, I am searching for a job and you are offering one; I am not here to marry you but to do business: I will not bring passion into it”. Such was my response and I then asked to conclude the interview.

Similar story for the prospective employer who emphasised how they care about “team culture” and how “we are mostly flat here”. This is all euphemistic talk to obfuscate the cut-throat outlook of putting the company goals above all, while maintaining a strict hierarchy that wields the simulacrum of friendship as a tool for control. I have no problem with an entrepreneur seeking profit. What I detest is the misplaced appeal to lofty goals and noble causes. Wherever I hear too much moralising, I know the place is steeped in vice.

The point is that I became more decisive in not accepting bullshit. For a while I tried not to speak and to play along. I was doing it in the hope of blending in, to eventually have a stable job and to finally not worry all the time about my precarious finances. Nonsense! What I got instead was the same old economic uncertainty, plus the cognitive burden of having to maintain appearances while facing patterns of behaviour I always considered dishonourable.

The “werewolf moment” marks a quantum leap in a transformation that has been unfolding over the years. It started with me seeking a change of scenery: to do whatever it takes to rekindle my vitality. I was trying to develop greater capacities and was putting myself out there. Little by little, I regained confidence in my abilities and soon rediscovered my potential for decisive action: to be a wolf among wolves. What followed is a broadening of these qualities. I have, in effect, been integrating the spiritual with the physical, the intellectual with the emotional, the accultured with the feral.

Since I mentioned Hades, I might as well make a brief comment on the symbolism of Apollon, the god of light (or enlightenment) and harmony. He carries the epithet “Lykeeos”/”Lykeios” (λύκειος), from where we get “lyceum” (λύκειο) and the name Lykourgos (Λυκούργος, i.e. “work of lykos”). Of course, “lykos” (λύκος) is the Greek word for “wolf”. We achieve enlightenment and reach inner peace when we allow the aforementioned integration to occur; when the primal and ever-wild beast within, poetically expressed as the wolf, becomes one with its accompanying mind; when we tend to all facets of our being. It is this union that emancipates us from self-destructive wants and their concomitant role-playing.

Tomorrow I will tend to my tasks on the computer and around the house. I shall do it with the same vigour and intensity that brought me here and made me who I am.

It is early Autumn now. Average day temperatures in Cyprus still hover above 25 degrees Celsius. The mountains are always cooler, especially at night. Even during the peak Summer days, one needs extra clothing post midnight. More so during the colder months. The drought continues and with it the undoing of many of my plantations. I am powerless to affect such magnitudes and thus accept my fate. Though “fate” is three-fold: choice, chance, and inevitability. I control one third of it and consistently choose to fight and to do things my way.

“He is a little bit anarchistic, no?” said a prospective employer to a friend regarding the option of recruiting me. This I learnt years later and was not surprised. The phrase is a euphemism for pointing out that I cannot be tamed and will only conform with whatever establishment if I want to. “Loose cannon” in other words.

When the world tells me that there is no alternative, that the authorities have all the answers, and that any question is anathema to the powers that be, I respond with determined industriousness to become the counterpoint. I do not always succeed, sure. This is not some self-help gimmick to win all arguments. It simply is the constant in my behavioural patterns. Tell me to obey “just because” and you might get a forceful challenge, if I care enough. It is how I got Oreeon from the vet earlier than I was instructed to, for example, or how I built the hut against the conventional wisdom against such “madness”.

Two years of living here, I know that every patch of land around me incorporates hours of my labour. I have been injured many times over to make things happen. I continue to do so with grit as I witness the progress I am making every week. The place is fairly safe from floods and wildfires. It is becoming more comfortable in general. Though no comfort can ever change the disposition I have to live under a rock, if I must, and to steel myself for another long day of hard work. Comforts are for my dogs and whoever else might live here.

My bane and blessing is that I am a lone wolf. I do not ask anyone for validation and do not seek advice on where to head next in life. If somebody says something reasonable, I do listen and will change my mind in the face of cogent arguments. For example, I did revise my plan for the materials I would use for the hut upon consultation with relevant experts. My original idea was okay, but would not be as cheap as I had hoped. I do not pretend to know everything and will not argue for the sake of arguing. This is where education comes in and my philosophical disposition shines. I just know what I want for my life and then put in the effort to understand how to acquire and wield the requisite means. My plans are flexible; my values solid.

Being a lone wolf is not something you cosplay at. Yes, I have met posers who do exactly that. I guess it makes for a good show to not have a single scratch on your body, to enjoy those silky smooth palms, yet to assume the role of the rugged individual while living the opulent life by some swimming pool. My experience is not something I enjoy or celebrate. I just accept it without fanfare. Like the wolf in the wilderness, I have to employ guile and vigour to cope with the ever precarious environment I find myself in. The cost of failure is prohibitive. The plan B, then, is for plan A to continue to work. There is a “wow” factor to that, if you think this is a show. But when it is the real thing, it is unnerving. Words cannot communicate that which is visceral.

My blessing is that I have the skills to survive, especially the mental fortitude of not relenting in the face of improbable odds. One way or another, through highs and lows, I am still going from strength to strength, now at the age of 37. I do not even feel I have ascended to the peak of my abilities. I push the boundaries in everything I do with ceaseless enthusiasm. My bane is that I live too close to the danger zone where realistically no-one will come to my rescue or join my pack in pursuit of normality.

The work I have been doing these days is on a piece of land that was historically used as a dumping ground for leftovers of some construction work. Large piles of broken concrete have over the decades been intertwined with grapevines and roses. Digging through this chunk of near impervious terrain is extremely taxing on the body. Without experience on how to use the pickaxe, and absent the combination of strength and stamina, I would be risking serious injury (e.g. to pull a muscle in the back). But I have been doing this sort of work for a while now. My body is conditioned to the rigours. I just start and keep going until I need to quit.

Today I did four hours of digging plus two hours of moving the dirt and rocks away from where they were. Clearing this spot provides the impetus for the next project: to set up a grill and build a shed around it in order to shelter me from any potential rainfall while I am making food. I do not know when this will happen. I do what is within my power and then wait for favourable circumstances to make my next move.

I cannot tell if there is a way to go from my current state to a new normal. In the past I tried to slow down, as it were, and suppress my feral spirit. That ended up being the lowest point in my life; the “darkness”, as I call it. It is no viable option. Perhaps by digging I am setting the conditions for a new state of affairs in which the wolf remains such yet also finds his pack. Or I am just digging deeper into the abyss where nobody will find me. Who knows? This is the best I can do, anyway, so these are idle thoughts.

As I am typing this, I feel minor discomfort in parts of my palm’s skin. It is due to all this business. It reminds me of the only truth I have ever believed with every fibre of my being: the pain of doing things in earnest. The discomfort will go away in a few hours. I did what I had to do and am content with the results. It is tiresome yet invigorating, for I am galvanised to continue.

Dogs need to be socialised to overcome their natural hesitation towards strangers and boisterous places. Otherwise they are fearful, stressful, and aggressive whenever they do not feel comfortable. In effect, socialising dogs is how you empower them to be more confident in their abilities and to better discern the likely dangerous situations: those which truly are irregular.

Walking four dogs is no mean feat. If you do not know what you are doing, you are in for a frustrating experience. Each animal will pull in a different direction, throwing you off balance and testing your patience. There is a good chance you will injure yourself, such as by getting a dislocated shoulder from one of those sudden pulls. Dogs do not just “want to please their human” nor are they “human’s best friend” by default. These are cute words we use when we are not prepared to discuss the power dynamics in a human-canine relationship. Dogs respond well to authority and, conversely, will do what they think is best where there is a power vacuum.

If your dog is not listening to you and if it is making a mess out of everything, the fault is yours for (i) not gaining its trust, (ii) not earning its respect, and (iii) not showing it what you expect. The authority I allude to pertains to drawing boundaries and of setting your dogs up for success. The requisite leadership is based on clear communication, consistency, and patience.

When you get a puppy, for example, you want to condition it to your touch: gently grab it by the tail, hold its paws, open its mouth, pick it up slowly and put it back down with care. In short, let it know that you are not hurting it and that you are in complete control of the situation. If you yourself are uncertain, stressed, and are fumbling around, the dog will notice and will correctly consider you unreliable.

Understand energy levels. When they are high, the animals need an outlet for their exuberance. Let them expend that built-up ferocity through playful behaviour and then, once they have calmed down, engage with them in a more structured way. A moderately tired dog is more focused on its interactions with you and, thus, learns better.

“Do you train dogs?” one lady asked me the other day. I replied affirmatively, while explaining that I am only interested in making them good canine citizens rather than preparing for the show ring. She then went on to say “I want you to tell me how to teach my dog to sit calmly at the couch and to not bark”. I explained that there is no such training. Or, to be more precise, peaceful behaviour is what you get after the dog has gone for a walk, spent enough quality time with you, and had its meal. Whether the dog barks or not will depend on the kind of breed it is and the situations it encounters. Some dogs (“watchdogs”) are meant to bark when they notice something irregular, effectively working like an alarm mechanism.

Before you even walk the dog, you must have already established yourself as the leader through consistency and clear communication. This is also true if you are introducing new dogs to the pack, like I did with my two puppies recently. Otherwise, you are not in control of the situation and you will not have a happy outcome.

Consistency is key to the conditioning you will be doing. This is not formal training, but the totality of actions you perform while sending a message to your dog. For example, from day one my puppies learnt the way that leads outside, where they are supposed to pee and poo. Similarly, as soon as I would notice that they wanted food, I would always bring it from the same spot, leave it at the same place, and repeat the familiar sound (namely “food” in Greek). Within a few days, the puppies would tell me what they were in need of by choosing the direction they wanted to go to. They even scratch on the door, thus asking me to open it. The same principle applies to every single interaction with the dog. Be consistent with your body language and fully confident in how you handle the situation. If you are unequivocal and precise, the dog understands you know what you are doing and follows along. Else, it will rely on its own devices and you will not like the results.

Coming to the point of actually walking the dogs, this is the continuation of the aforementioned. You get them used to walking on a leash by (i) not making a big deal out of it, (ii) not showing signs of frustration or impatience while dealing with the dogs natural reluctance to be on leash and (iii) leading them to walk by your side by guiding them gently yet decisively. The dog does not go wherever it wants: you are setting the direction as well as the pace. But you are not dragging it along either. You are both on the road as a team. As such, you let the animal sniff around, do wait for it, and go to the other side of the street if it feels more comfortable there (or is just curious to check things out). While walking, make the dog stay next to you and get accustomed to your pace. Do not have it run in front of you, as then it gets confused about who the leader is plus you will not be able to control it.

Remember that dogs respond to body language, which you disseminate at much greater volume than verbal cues. If you master that, you will be able to walk as many dogs as you can endure. No matter the training, you still need to have good balance, be quick on your feet, and sufficiently strong in your upper body. More so if the dogs are large.

Dogs ultimately follow your lead because they like you and you are actually taking them somewhere in life. The more you deepen your trust with your dog, the easier it will be for them to cooperate with you, as they will know you have everybody’s wellness in mind.

I am happy with the standards I set for myself. They are demanding and inspire me to keep going. I am not sated when, for example, I have published one article but still have plenty of free time for another (like today). If I can do better, I want to be putting in the effort. Failure is acceptable, provided I did not take the easy way out. For example, I am now typing these words. If the thoughts do not flow alla prima, I will accept defeat and recognise my limits. But I shall never give up ahead of time when the outcome is not already clear (if I have 10 minutes of battery left, then I will not even try because I know I cannot write a comprehensive entry in such a short time).

The inner critic is a ruthless bastard. Nobody questions him while he has the power to destroy me. At least such was the dynamic at times when I did not treat myself with enough respect. I would labour under a double standard where it was acceptable for others to fall short of their stated values while I could not afford to show any sign of weakness. I eventually learnt to care for myself at the emotional level. This is still a tough form of love, mind you, in which I still demand hard work, but I nevertheless do not despise failure. To fail while trying in earnest is honourable. Indeed, this is the essence of sportspersonship: there can only be one winner but the losers are still honouring their peers and respecting themselves by following the rules and by gracefully accepting the loss.

Sore losers are those who do not want to work with their inner critic in pursuit of improving themselves. In their head, they are faultless as it is always some external factor that prevents them from achieving their goals. In sport the dynamics are fairly simple, but the same applies to the more complex world of our quotidian life. I can expound at length on all the systemic features that make my efforts harder and, at times, I am justified to believe that I am at the receiving end of structural injustice. Yet I do not want to stop there. That is what the sore loser or the defeatist does. I want to work day and night in preparation for the day when I make one step forward and then continue on to eventually reverse the trend. I shall not relent and will never allow all the analyses and their intellectuality to stand as an excuse for inaction.

Insistence is not necessarily a virtue though. If the standard is not realistic, then all the effort is futile and becomes self-destructive. One must revise their views, bring the targets closer, while acknowledging that those can be set to a higher level in the future. The key is to remain adaptable by retaining situational awareness.

This is where conditioning comes in. While my inner critic cannot be attacked directly, he can get used to a new state of affairs. His impervious shelter does not save him from the changing environment. I introduce disruptions in progressively more intense steps, thus allowing myself time to come to terms with the new normal. The selfie project I committed to recently is a testament to this mode of conduct. It may sound strange to admit, but I detest looking at my own pictures. “Something” unsettles me, but I cannot pinpoint it. I guess knowing the cause does not really make a difference in this case, as what I want is the same: to get used to something as simple as seeing what the camera is showing, without any further considerations.

Controlled discomfort empowers us to grow. It does so by gradually eroding the realm of the familiar. The known is not necessarily comfortable, even though this is a common bias we have. Reason helps us comprehend the drawbacks with what we have and then to anticipate how things may stand in a future arrangement of the applicable factors of the case.

“To what end?” is a question that ultimately forces us into indecision. I do not need a transcendent telos to do this little thing. By recognising the banality of the task—indeed the banality of everything I do—I lower the stakes while also resisting the temptation to faint knowledge of magnitudes outside the scope of what I can fathom. “It is just a picture, mate”, I would respond, “do not overthink it”.

[…] is sparta and the mythology around their toughness/discipline/focus on “real things” an influence on you? That’s the image I have of sparta from pop culture but you might have a different view because you are Greek

No, ancient Sparta per se does not inspire me. Though the ancient Greek values, which the Spartans shared, do inform my way of life.

I think the pop culture view of the Spartans is exaggerated. Or, to be more precise, the Spartans have a reputation that is not specific to them. They were militaristic and austere, yes, though (i) austerity is part of the Greek life in general throughout the aeons and (ii) all Greeks had variations of the landowner-citizen-warrior (ιδιοκτήτης-πολίτης-οπλίτης) theme.

With few exceptions, Greece was never a wealthy nation compared to its peers. Not if we were to judge it against the rich and vastly more populous areas of Egypt, Messopotamia, Persia, and, further east, India and China. The Greeks have always been relatively few in number and poor by comparison (the population dynamics are true even today). The geography plays a big part in this.

Modern Greece is known for its beaches as a tourist attraction. This it is, though if you think about it in terms of the ancient world, the seaside does not give you any money. The soil is saturated with salt and you cannot cultivate anything there. The winds are stronger than in the hinterlands because there are no obstacles in their way.

Check out the small Aegean islands to get a sense of such a place: those islands effectively are formations of rock surrounded by undrinkable water. The only source of food and a modest income is fishing—and it too is difficult due to strong winds during the winter. The Greek mainland is rocky and full of steep mountains. It does not lend itself to large-scale agriculture.

The Greeks thus had to rely on maritime trade, which led them to set up small coastside colonies across the Mediterranean and the Black sea. The Greek mainland was not an economic powerhouse or, if it was for a while, that period was short.

The point is that austerity is inherent to the Greek way of life. The word we have to describe our comfort with few things is “oligarky” (ολιγάρκεια), which is not to be confused with “oligarchy” (ολιγαρχία). Oligarky literally means “few+enough of” or “few+content with”. By contrast, oligarchy means “few+rule”. Another variation of this theme is “autarky” (αυτάρκεια) which means “self+enough of” or “self+content with”, which practically says that you live off of your own produce. Again, this is not to be mistaken for “autarchy” (αυταρχία) which stands for “self+rule”.

At around the turn of the 21st century of the common era, the Greeks lived through a period of unprecedented economic growth which was fuelled by unsustainable capital flows brought about by the creation of the European single currency (the Euro) and the concomitant convergence of bond market interest rates. That fair-weather edifice unravelled in the post-2008 financial crisis; a crisis whose chilling effects the world still suffers from.

For the Greeks in particular, this came as a cultural shock because people who were young adults at the time were raised with a Disney princess view of the world in which you are entitled to everything and in which there is a happy ending just because of who you are. The middle finger they got from the markets has hopefully brought them back to the primordial Greek reality of living within your means and of working through hardship with vigour, creativity, and a good sense of humour (humour is a powerful coping mechanism). In this world there is no space for self-styled indignant protesters (elsewhere “indignados” or the various “occupy” movements) who twiddle their thumbs at the city square waiting for the authorities to give them the princely life they were promised.

Anyway, not to run off on a political tangent… The gist is that the ancient Spartans are not special in this regard.

Then we have the wider theme of toughness, an expression of which occurs through militarism. This too is not an ancient Spartan exclusivity. Just look at the Greek gods to get a sense of how every single Greek colony thought of itself. The aesthetics of a people tell you a lot about their underlying values. If they appreciate an athletic body, it is because they necessarily respect and promote discipline, commitment, and hard work, for there is no other way to maintain that kind of body. Plus the obvious appreciation of sheer strength.

If their greatest religious event is athletic at its core (the Olympic games), it shows how they thought of spirituality as a facet of the human condition that is rooted in the vigorous body. To them, the spirit is not more important than the body and, conversely, they would not treat the body as something to be feared or loathed or, indeed, to be hidden from sight.

If their goddess of wisdom (Athena) is a warrior rather than some pacifist academic figure, it is because they understand that sometimes you have to stand your ground and be forceful. When “sometimes” is the right course of action is what wisdom is all about. To put it differently, wisdom consists in the judgement one applies to suspend their own rules in order to avoid absurdity or annihilation.

Athena is a woman whose presence engenders awe: an unambiguous way to communicate the ancient Greek value that strength, ferocity, and perfect poise are not limited to manhood (same can be said about Artemis, for example, and nobody would want to mess around with Hera, anyway).

I can go on about the symbolism germane to all the gods, but the point is this: the Greeks did not want to be seen as pitiful and to compete with each other over who is the most victimised. This is a perversion of the excellence they aspired to. It is a race to the bottom that is celebrated as success and valorised as propriety.

It then follows that whatever you want in life you earn it the hard way. There are no shortcuts. Not because you are entitled to it. No. You get what your deeds yield—and what they can return depends on the prevailing political conditions so, in other words, on what others are and have been doing. Combine that with the austerity you are raised in and you get a set of values that are at once communitarian and individualistic.

The community is the milieu in which the landowner-citizen-warrior is realised and the space where the religious experience is made whole. It is the place where typically all your friends and relatives—your clan—are. The individual is the person who seeks excellence, in accordance with the Olympic ideals, and who nonetheless has to operate with moderation to avoid hubris.

Hence the Apollonian cult of knowing your limits and of not being reckless (and Apollon was the patron of Sparta, by the way), embedded in the three Delphic maxims of “μηδέν άγαν” (“nothing in excess” or “nothing in deviation” [of the middle way], so avoid exaggerations), “γνώθι σεαυτόν” (“know yourself”, so that you can be mindful of your limits, which nonetheless requires that you investigate your world), “εγγύα παρά δ’Άτα” (“assurances stand beside Ate (the goddess of ruin)”, so do not be full of yourself and reckless in what you do and thus, again, work within your means).

There is an element of honour that connects the communitarian with the individualistic. It is at the root of interpersonal relations. People are expected to recognise excellence, to value family and friendship, and generally to not disturb the boundaries between the house and the city. We have a word which I will expound on in some future philosophy video called “φιλότιμο”. I would render it in English as philotimy or philotimia. It literally means to be a friend of honour, kind of how philosophy is friendship of wisdom. (And “friend” in this context is a form of love, but “love” proper is called “αγάπη” (agape).) In short, honour is what inspires a person to be honest, to not seek to cheat, to not be a swindler, to respect someone’s household, to not violate anybody’s sacred sites, and the like.

Those who lack honour have their reputation tarnished for an eternity. In closely knit societies this is a powerful mechanism to enforce the norms because those who are punished cannot make a living anymore. The Greeks care about their reputation so much that we have a word for it: υστεροφημία, which means one’s fame after they die. Let me call this hysterophemy. One tends to their hysterophemy when they pursue excellence, because if you are going to do something well, you might as well leave a legacy for the aeons. And, conversely, if you lack honour all future people will loath you and your descendants will carry that stigma in shame. An example of this is the traitor of the Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae (the famous “300”), whose name was Ephialtis. That was a regular name at some point that no sensible Greek will ever name their son after, given the dishonour of treason.

With those behaviours in place, you effectively get a society that works decently even when there are no strong rules enforced by a central government. This, too, has been a fixture of the Greek world which was for millenia a patchwork of small colonies and city-states. That is now changing with the creation of the centralist and centralising nation-state which, unsurprisingly, has led to an erosion of the communitarian ethos and its accompanying philotimy.

It just randomly occured to me to ask you how do you food? Because I’m guessing food is also a facet of life that you have simplified. Not necessarily a list of what foods you eat day to day, more like the logistical/pragmatic aspects of it and any other thoughts you have about food as a topic. A few questions are do you meal prep, do you basically eat the same food 80% of the time and if yes, do you cover any micronutrient shortfalls with multivitamins etc. I do all the above.

Yes, I have thought about food and have my opinions about it. The short version of what I do is keep things simple and moderate. Simplicity applies to the work required to prepare a meal and also to the flavours involved. Moderation means to not overdo certain tastes and instead work towards that which occurs naturally in the dish.

A good example of these principles is the Greek-style (or “Mediterranean”) salad: it is easy to make yet also gets the job done in terms of its nutritional value. It consists of common vegetables, like cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, peppers, lettuce, and olives, together with some herbs like oregano and basil, plus a little bit of olive oil and vinegar. I need maybe five minutes to prepare it and do not have to do a lot of work afterwards to clean the place up. Another good example, if I am having meat, is roasted pork chops. They take more time to prepare but the process is very simple: just flip them every few minutes to avoid charring one side. I serve them straight without any sauce or extras.

Bad examples, and thus types of dish I do not consume, are those which (i) involve lots of preparatory steps and (ii) mix together different classes of taste, like milky and oily. The “mousaka” recipe that is part of my local cuisine is a huge problem in this regard. Its complexity is burdensome in terms of the work necessary to produce the meal, of the follow-up efforts to clean up all the tools/spaces, and of the extra processing the body needs to do to break down these overdone/heavy flavours. You know it is terrible because you feel dizzy after eating it. Because I do not want to be a slave of my kitchen and to burden my body with needless complexity, I avoid any meal that blends different classes of taste like that.

The rule of thumb is this: if it is not simple, it is probably not right. There are exceptions, hence the “rule of thumb”.

Simplicity and moderation extend to the cooking techniques I apply. In short, I do not use a frying pan. Anything that is fried will deviate substantially from its natural flavour. Compare, for example, a raw onion to a fried one. The latter is caramelised and, on top, delivers a combination of contrasting classes of taste, namely, sweet and oily. Same idea for marinated ingredients: they are not for me.

Keeping things close to their natural state means that I never cook vegetables (e.g. to make a soup), unless they can only be consumed that way. If some vegetable needs to be cooked (usually legumes), then I will boil it to the minimum viable level. I will not overcook it because then it gets too sweet or is anyhow not the same thing anymore.

By the same token, I never do smoothies or juices. I eat the raw ingredient directly. The reason is two-fold: (i) I want my jaws to continue to work hard the way they were meant to and (ii) I thus avoid overconsuming certain foods. Think, for instance, about the carrot. It is hard to chew on it so you will practically not consume more than one raw carrot. But if you turn it into some barely recognisable blended version of itself, you can take in the equivalent of several carrots without even realising it. In other words, you do not have a natural brake and are thus overdoing it. Juices are exactly the same, especially once you remove the flesh of the fruit and keep its liquids. Instead, peel off the orange and eat it outright. Let your body work with the limits it finds in foods.

I mentioned soups earlier: I would never make one myself but will accept it if I am invited for dinner. The reason I do not like them is because there is always a more natural and easier alternative. Vegetable soup? Do a salad instead. Fish soup? Grill the fish and serve it with some lemon.

I do not eat dairy products. Not because of a principled objection to them, but because their mass production goes together with the debasement of their quality. So-called “Greek yogurt” is not sour anymore, for example. Same idea for Feta, which typically is a toned down cow-milk-like mockery of the real thing. Milk I never fancied and cheese is hit-or-miss in terms of flavour and usually unhealthy in how much processing goes into it.

I also avoid all bread and bread-like products. The only exception is the sourdough bread I make at home. This one I can trust not to have any additives, including common ingredients like sugar, salt, eggs, and milk. Check out the label on an industrial loaf of bread to find all sorts of strange substances there: it is becoming increasingly indistinguishable from garbage.

As you can imagine, I do not consume any sweets or salted foods—and I am strict about it. I have not eaten ice cream in over a decade, for example. No salted peanuts or other similarly served dry nuts. Same for sodas and all heavily processed meals, most of which I quit consuming circa 2006.

I have never taken supplements in my life and always strive to have decent variety in my meals. I have also not been on any kind of medication and have rarely visited doctors. Not to imply anything here: it just is how things have worked out, in large part due to financial constraints (doctors cost a lot, so the conditions force me to be healthier and simpler). This has worked nicely for me over the decades, but I cannot know how much is down to my constitution and my habits or even the environment I am in. I always have energy for work, for long walks, and other activities such as intellectual pursuits. My consistency is my greatest asset and my resulting availability to do stuff is my best ability. For example, last time I had flu-like symptoms was in my early teenage years.

Finally, I have long now quit alcohol consumption, while I never did any other substance abuse. I never smoked a cigarette, for instance, even though virtually all of my friends were smokers. I consider it a bad sign when I need some boost to do my work, like caffeine. It means that something is not right and I resort to a short-term solution that will most probably develop into a long-term problem. I have been athletic throughout my life and consider it essential to remain at the peak of my powers for as long as possible through disciplined daily routines.

For me, the key is to keep things bland and not seek excitements in food. Otherwise, you will continue to pursue the intense flavours which inevitably lead to complex recipes, overdone techniques, absence of natural brakes, and thus abusive consumption. This applies to life in general, but let’s keep it to food for now.

Do you eat eggs? That’s the only thing I use a frying pan for because I found it difficult/unsustainable to eat 4 boiled eggs daily (not about the taste; more like the digestive load it generates) so I have to consume it in omelette form which I find is a lot easier to digest.

To me, the omelette falls in the same category as the example I gave with the carrots. It is very easy to consume large amounts of egg in this way. One boiled egg every other day is fine, unless you are doing some really intense physical work or have such a need, in which case one or two a day sounds okay.

Taking a step back, I notice how the search for variety effectively regulates overconsumption. If, for example, I had an egg one day, then I do not need to also eat meat or tuna. Those are for the days after. If I had legumes one day, then the next day can be something else.

1 What percentage of your food is meal prepped ahead of time and what percentage is prepared and eaten on the same day?

I prepare the meal and eat it right away. I only do enough for one time. It is easier because I do not need to be concerned about its storage and preservation. This is especially important during the summer, as it gets really hot here and so it is riskier to keep food around for longer.

2 Do you track your calories and macros? If yes, what’s your daily protein intake?

No, I do not track anything. I have a lay person’s understanding of what the different kinds of food give you and so I take a little bit of everything. This is the variety I mentioned.

I do not track any data about my life. For example, I do not measure how many steps I took on a given walk or exactly how many glasses of water I drunk. If I walk enough to feel tired, then I am good. If I drink enough water to feel hydrated, then everything is okay. If I have the vitality to keep pursuing my interests and doing all the tasks I want, then everything is in order.

Not tracking data saves me from the pitfalls of overthinking but also of the deception that is overoptimisation. When we try to optimise too much, we think we operate on a fully understood system, when in reality there are lacunae in our knowledge. I thus choose to remain generic in doing the simple things simply, which effectively means that on the topic of overoptimisation I err on the side of caution.

3 What is your main form of exercise? Low intensity cardio (I saw some titles in your YouTube of you going on long walks) or do you also do strength training?

I do calisthenics at home because that is the simpler option. No gym commute/money/clothes/logistics.

I hike a lot. These mountains are quite steep and I go up and down multiple times a day. Then there is all the physical work I do in and around the hut. It involves the hammer, the sledgehammer, the pickaxe, and power tools, all of which demand strength and endurance. Those tools are hard to wield for long, but also the impact they have on whatever you are working on adds to the difficulty of the task. Then there is the duration, which tests your strength over time. For example, one of the most physically demanding forms of farming is to work the land with the pickaxe, which is what I do. Try it for 5 minutes to get a feel for how challenging it is. Then do it for 2 hours under direct sunlight… Oftentimes the work I do for the hut demands that I lift heavy burdens, like the balcony door I installed recently. Those are challenging as well.

If I do not do any physical work, then I will do calisthenics and stretching. Again, variety is the way to avoid exaggerations.

When I was playing football, I did go to the gym for a little while, but ultimately did not like it. There is something about the highly controlled closed space that does not inspire me to be active. With football, you train on the pitch (we would play on dirt and gravel most of the time) so you get exposed to the weather: it is more rugged and feels authentic as a result. Same for my life in the mountains, which awakens in me the wild animal that thrives in open spaces and in the sense of danger+adventure. Saving money is a bonus, of course.

It is past midnight now. I got home from a long walk in the mountains. I do hike every evening or night with my dogs. When there is a full moon I also go for another round afterwards to enjoy the experience. There is something uncommon about walking under the moonlight. You can see more figures around you, yet it is still dark enough to keep you on high alert. Perhaps what I enjoy the most is to operate in this liminal space between tranquillity and the sense of fear humans naturally have for the indiscernible and, thus, the unpredictable. While in the mountains at night, you understand better that you are not in full control of the environment, yet to be there you must operate with full confidence in your abilities to cope with the challenges.

Living in the countryside outside a built up area requires situational awareness at all times. You cannot afford to not know what is happening around you, what your options are, and which are the ways you might act in the face of danger. When the wildfires were raging, for example, I knew which paths to take to flee to safety and to not run into other troubles. I also scouted the area to update my knowledge of the terrain. Similarly, I am prepared for floods: I pay attention to qualities such as the composition of the terrain and how muddy it gets after a regular rainfall. I also know where in those slopes water flows may form. It is how I can anticipate which paths are dangerous and which ones are more reliable.

Walking at night in the wilderness requires this level of alertness. You have to be calm and composed, peaceful within, else you are already starting from a position of disturbance, from a place where you are feeling constant distractions. Calmness of this sort does not lend itself to reveries and absentmindedness. It is of another kind altogether. You are poised to act. Perhaps it is like the disposition of the wolf while on the prowl. We are apex predators, after all, although acculturation can trick us into thinking that we have fully pacified and domesticated ourselves.

While atop the nearest peak, I bore witness to the lunar eclipse. It lasted several hours. There was a phase to it where the moon was fully covered by the earth’s shadow. Its surface then acquired a red shade. The colour was much more saturated than the warm yet subtle tints we observe when the moon is on line of the horizon. In the final phase of the eclipse, the reds gave way to desaturated yellows that faded into white. As the moon started to brighten again, it shone with an intense glow of light coming from its bottom left side. Within an hour or so, the familiar face of the full moon was on display. I then left the summit with a smile on my face, pondering the beauty of this world and the humility required to appreciate the little things.

I cannot fathom the extent of the cosmos. What I am aware of is its immanent orderliness. There is structure and pattern in phenomena making manifest underlying processes of reasonableness and of computation which themselves have order. It is orderly throughout. Even what we conventionally consider chaotic is not devoid of pattern. Nothing is. Not even when the cycle of transfiguration culminates in the disintegration of a form, its reintegration in the greater whole of fluctuating states, and ultimately its reconstitution into a more stable form.

There is no point in boasting of one’s putative greatness in the face of the cosmos. How can I think I am the smartest being around when there is reason in the very fabric of the world? This is intelligence that spans the most minuscule of objects all the way to the totality of life. What is my strength compared to the sheer forces that engender the blood moon, that make this earth what it is, and that have contributed to my making which will inevitably be followed by my undoing? Whatever I have is derivative, partial, and contingent. And whatever I invent is latent in the constitution of my immediate milieu, waiting to be discovered.

You are humble when you are aware of the magnitudes. Otherwise, you consider yourself the “real deal”. There are levels to this. When you are involved in sport, you know not to talk big because you have not broken any records yet nor have reached the pinnacle of athletic achievement. When you do science, you do not say much owning to the understanding that your knowledge is limited. This is circumstantial humility, as it depends on the interplay of factors that constitute the case. The sportsperson, the scientist, and every other expert can still be cocky in other ways.

People have a propensity to compare themselves to others. When we feel content with ourselves, we make favourable comparisons that flatter our status. When we loath who we are or have become, we seek to confirm our foregone conclusion by pointing out the prominent qualities in others. The mechanics of comparison work towards a new equilibrium in which we find our place in the ranking among our peers. It is not humility but powerlessness or cockiness, depending on the specifics.

The ultimate humility necessarily is spiritual, else rooted in the transcendent. It is the state of being we operate in when we submit to the authority of something superordinate to our presence and when we consider whatever good springs from it to be unassailable. Only when the foundations of our mode of living are godly are we unshakably humble. Everything else is precarious.

Names we use to describe the greater magnitudes are matters of convention. A Greek man may honour the Olympic tradition out of respect for the mythos that inspired his ancestors to pursue excellence. Another may feel that a different set of narratives is more appropriate. Fighting over symbols, metaphors, and artistic representations is a distraction, as is the effort to affirm those as true. We cannot hide from the gods. Our pretences are shallow, our ambitions misguided. What matters is to live in accordance with the world, which simply means to accept our place in the space, to outgrow the need for drawing comparisons to others, and to stop kissing up while punching down.

I am. It is not much. I feel empowered to tread the mountains alone under the light of the red moon. It is not much. This body remains fragile, no matter its tenacity. It is not much. I tend to my duties with unflinching commitment. It is not much. I shall one day cease to be. It is not much. Whatever happens, happens. I have long now accepted the workings of the cosmos both when they seem to give and when they appear to take. I go with the flow and cope with whatever circumstances as they occur. To what end? I can come up with clever justifications, but can never be certain. I thus choose to leave it open and to keep my attention focused on the nuances. Not because those are somehow more important. No, I cannot know as much. They just remind me of my own presence in the grand scheme of things. Every snapshot of the world is full of potential to keep us awestruck. Such is the consistency between the micro and the macro views. It is only a matter of recognising our surroundings.

The past ~2 months I have not written as many journal entries as usual. The time I would normally dedicate to journaling has been taken up by my two new puppies, Meelon and Oreeon. They are almost three months old now. At this age, they require a lot of attention. Their energy levels are high, as is their curiosity. Yet they lack the experience to do the right thing in most situations. It is why I must be around to guide them accordingly.

My style of upbringing is best described as “freedom within robust constraints” or “intervention as the last resort”. I let the puppies experiment with the world, including the option to learn about their limits the hard way. For example, Atlas is the top dog here: if they annoy him he will growl and bark back at them, but will otherwise be friendly towards them. I shall only intervene if there is danger, which has not happened yet. If it does happen though, I will be forceful and decisive.

Same principle for what happened last night. My goal was to incentivise the puppies to follow me in the dark a few metres away from the house. They were reluctant at first, until they figured the low-light environment is still the same place they already know and traverse each day. It took them a few minutes of hesitation until they found the courage to follow in my footsteps. This was their “aha!” moment, of realising they have the capacity to just walk around during the night. I was patient the whole time and at no point did I force things to happen. Had they not followed me, I would simply return home with the intent of retrying some other time. This is the “freedom” part of my method. The “robust constraints” is what they do not see, which is the fact that I have accounted for the safety of the place beforehand: I was only exposing them to a spot which I know is clear of vegetation, thus minimising the risks.

I am their guardian and have the requisite situational awareness. I set up for success and then remain in the background. Central to my leadership is the view that nobody is expendable. Actions are guided by foresight, such that threats are known and exposure to danger is kept at a minimum. This is about understanding the prevailing conditions and taking thoughtful decisions. The opposite is recklessness and its underlying irresponsibility. A common example with dogs is how they guard their food. The human must understand the inter-canine dynamics. If I make the mistake of giving Atlas’ meal to the puppies, for example, then I am effectively asking Atlas to attack the small dogs, thus creating a major source of danger and unrest. This an entirely avoidable situation, when we act with foresight.

My role is not to teach the puppies outright, but to frame the learning which occurs naturally through experimentation. I have done the framework and let them operate therein. This is how I have understood life in general and my life in particular as a process of discovering what is latent in each form of life, without violating reasonable limits.

What applies to dogs holds true for humans as well. We too need leadership, in the form of understated and prescient guidance; of structures that increase the likelihood of our initiatives being benign and sustainable. In the absence of constraints, our capacity for action can become self-destructive and unreliable, for we have no warning signs of when to stop and thus of when we are operating at the margin of the untenable extreme.

In essence, boundaries are those snippets of knowledge that tell us something about the given state of affairs which allows us to estimate where the viable space is. We can think of it like my house, with its surrounding nature, at night: the puppies going beyond what they can see entails greater risk for them, given their inexperience, so the horizon of light delimits their boundary of the expected and the controllable. Knowledge has the same effect of delineating a notional space. Whatever possible deeds are then subject to a risk assessment.

In this regard, “imposing boundaries” is not about being authoritarian. To point out where the limits are does not require force. It can be done gently through instruction. I think of the resort to coercion as a sign of failure to act with foresight: it is a last-ditch attempt at salvaging the situation. If, in the case of my young dogs, I need to use force to protect them, then it means that I have already done mistakes in not anticipating the trouble: I was not thoughtful enough to account for the possible risks and to factor in all the data points pertinent to my resources. I thus expect that the person who relies on violence to manage their affairs and get a point across is one who lacks the wherewithal to commit to the long-term method of careful guidance through foresight.

A person will find out what their potential is through a continuous process of experimentation. Not to become the replica of another, but to produce an outcome that is at one level recognisable as a pattern in the given milieu and at another level remains specific to the case at hand. My knowledge of training dogs, for example, is not based on the experience of all possible dogs. I have simply discerned patterns in some dogs (and not only), which allow me to foresee the scenaria that might unfold. All I have is a starting point. The end result remains open-ended, for I cannot know the particularities of events that cumulatively form the dog in tandem with their own capacities and the feedback loops those engender.

The starting point is the given, as are the abstract features of some of the cases to be constituted. The specifics remain to be determined. When it comes to our lives, to how we organise our social experience, and how we estimate worthiness, we place too much importance on prefigured outcomes rather than appreciate the subtleties of the unexpected, the unfamiliar, and, perhaps, the unpopular or unconventional. Social expectations are a factor, where we try to guess what others will like and only try to deliver as much. Though we also do it to ourselves, through force of habit. Think back to each time you refused to try something new or even slightly different than what you are used to. Is it because you know the outcome is genuinely detrimental to your being? Or you have effectively developed tunnel vision by only seeing one result as benign and desirable?

Freedom within robust constraints means that we have a starting point, a general idea of what we wish to achieve, a comprehensive appreciation of the risks and of the sustainable pathways, and an understanding of the possible ways to go from what we have to what we want. The details will take shape through the process as it unfolds. Such is how I conduct myself and manage my affairs, with care and with a gentle touch that nevertheless retains the option of exerting force as a matter of last resort.

how could you separate children from their mother? i’m sure there is philosophy about doing something as unnatural as this. if you need a dog company, adopt one. resuce one. don’t buy. don’t sell. don’t separate from mother

I expect there to be a philosophy for every issue. I also know that too much philosophising inhibits action and that our life is a sequence of deeds.

To your point, puppies can be separated from their mother only after they stop breastfeeding. Otherwise it should be avoided. Suppose the man who has the mother follows your line of thinking. Now he has 10 dogs. Within a few months they will be large in size and will form a pack. The owner will likely not be able to handle the situation, either financially or in terms of containing the natural aggression of the pack. Also, he will not be able to spend enough time with the dogs and, generally, form a bond with them. So either the dogs will be deprived of basic needs, like food and shelter, or they will be allowed to become feral where they will inevitably clash with humans. What do you think humans will do when they start feeling threatened by uncontrolled dogs? Are you sure this is an outcome that contributes to the wellness of those dogs?

Adopting a dog is noble. I have done so with one of my older dogs, Raizou. Though not all dogs can be adopted for a variety of reasons. For my case, I could not bring another adult dog into the house, due to the tensions it would cause with the other adult dogs I have. More so for a dog coming from a shelter that would likely not be well socialised and in need of extensive training. Bringing such a dog would require me to enforce strict segregation between the dogs in order to prevent fights. In the meantime, I would have to invest an inordinate amount of time to train the adopted dog, thus creating a sense of jealousy in the others. Do you understand how a dog like my Atlas will be ruthless towards any strange dog that challenges him? Again, this will not end well.

The phenomenon of puppy mills is something I am against. Though note this comes more from the demand of people for expensive “purebred” dogs, which creates a business incentive. Whereas all my dogs are mixed breed that I got for free, with pregnancies that occurred naturally. The mother of Meelon and Oreeon, for instance, lives here in the mountains in a spacious place where she is taken good care of. Her pregnancy is the result of a natural phenomenon. The only way for people to prevent the creation of puppies is to sterilise the dogs. I do not see how forcing such a condition on the mother and father is reducing harm, which I assume is your underlying principle.

All in all, each decision is a balancing act. Whatever we do, we have to act with a view of the bigger picture, think about the longer-term implications, and be responsible.

I’ve been reading your work and watching your videos and I’m struck by something you seem to have figured out that I’m struggling with. How do you share substantive ideas and connect with people who might benefit from them without getting caught up in the social media performance game?

I think it has to do with how I approach my creativity in general. I have learnt to tend to my needs, by allowing that which is within me to take form. Instead of forcing it to happen, I let it come about organically. This is why the following are true:

1. I sometimes go for weeks without publishing a new video. If I am not feeling it, then it is not the right moment for it. It will not be authentic.

2. The topics I cover are not limited to a specific target audience. One day I will write about Emacs, for example, and the other I will produce an article about life in the mountains and then another about some political ideas. I mean, even if there is an audience for such intersections, it must be tiny.

3. I follow my “alla prima” method of creativity and trust in myself to perform well enough: I am expressing what is ready to be elucidated and am interested in capturing my authentic self in the moment. Sure, there is value in works that are refined over time (e.g. the free software I develop), but those are not a snapshot of myself. When I write a journal entry or do a video, I want to both elaborate on the substantive point and test how I am doing it in the moment.

If I was into the performative game, I would be operating in terms of maximising my impact in pursuit of profits. This would include, among others, (i) editing my videos, (ii) using catchy thumbnails, (iii) relying on clickbait, (iv) generally manipulating people into paying attention to me, and (v) promoting my content on Reddit and social media. To be clear, I am not against people who do that—these are the ways the game is played. I simply do not care about playing that game myself. I find it relaxing to be myself and stressful to pretend to be another.

Finally, the performance game is also about appearing as an authority in the given field. Whereas I make it clear that I am nothing of the sort. For example, in my “about me” page on my website I clearly note that I only have a Bachelor’s degree. Or, for my coding endeavours, I tell people that I am not a professional programmer and have not studied computer science or related disciplines. In short, I am just a guy in the mountains who speaks his mind: take it for what it is and then think for yourself. If you spot my mistakes, that is great: you will help me become aware of them and you are already thinking independently.

Your path from politics to the mountains resonates with me. I’m someone who’s always been more comfortable as a lurker in online spaces, partly due to anxiety around the performative aspects of social platforms. Even in seemingly welcoming spaces like open-source communities, I’ve always found it too intimidating to ask questions (if you have a problem, search first before asking) or contribute, due to feeling like I may not be competent enough yet to contribute anything substantial.

The social anxiety you mention can be a liability though consider how it puts you in a tough spot where you have an incentive to act. Instead of asking a question, you may choose to do more research about it and come up with your own solution. Sure, this is the hard way and it can be frustrating as results do not come about quickly. Though it can be rewarding long-term as you gain a deeper insight into the subject and are empowered to make connections that would otherwise not be possible.

What I have learnt about what we may consider “character flaws”, or which anyway are seen as weaknesses by the general public, is that they can actually be strong points or lead to the formation of benign qualities. Put differently, not all hope is lost. It is a matter of trying in earnest and of not having a defeatist attitude. Tell yourself that you are not good enough only after you have tried to the best of your abilities. Then your self-assessment is fair and then you will already be more lenient with yourself because you know you did not cheat.

The part about being “competent enough” is a trap. It only matters if you choose to brand yourself as the foremost expert in the field. Otherwise, you are contributing what is congruent with your level (assuming you are not trying to deceive people). In the case of the Emacs community, for example, you may have a blog where you describe what you are learning by using Emacs, the parts you like and those you do not like. This is no longer about whether you are “competent enough” but how genuine your human side is. Of course, you can still be highly informative in whatever it is you are working on.

Recently, I wrote a lengthy analysis applying systems thinking to AI discourse - trying to move beyond the usual utopia/dystopia binary that dominates these discussions - but I’m finding the typical channels for sharing this kind of work like Reddit or Hacker News either inaccessible or deeply misaligned with how I prefer to engage.

All fora are tricky because of a number of factors that are unrelated to the quality of your contribution. For example, you may write something constructive but your timing is wrong because some company released their new product and now everyone is riding the hype train.

Here is what I remember of a joke that a friend once shared about Facebook. I think it captures the essence of many online experiences:

You spend a couple of hours thinking of something deep to expound on. Then you take care to write it as best you can. You publish it, expecting an exchange of profound thoughts. A few hours later, you check back in anticipation of the flood of notifications you have received. But there is nothing of substance. You have received one “like” from your mother and a “fuck off, mate, let’s go for drinks” response from your best friend. Disappointed as you are, you start scrolling aimlessly at your feed. As you go past the posts and ads, you notice an entry from the hottie of your neighbourhood that was sent 5 minutes ago. “I am drinking coffee on my balcony 🙃” is the message. To your astonishment, you notice right below 5000 likes, 3000 comments, and 2 Champions League trophies!

The point is to know what you are likely to get on these platforms. Focus on your work. You will eventually discover like-minded people who will be keen on sharing their passion with you. Even if you get exposure on social media or some forum, keep in mind that it is short-lived. What will keep people around for longer is the quality of your work. “Quality” may be about how informative or intriguing the content is or how authentic you are. It depends on the subject.

You’ve built quite a collection of substantial entries and genuine influence through the work itself, without needing to become a social media performer. That approach feels much more authentic to me than the typical “build an audience first” advice. I’m wondering if you have any thoughts on how someone can contribute meaningfully to public discourse while staying true to their own values and communication style?

I have been publishing since February of 2011. The topics and focus have changed over the years, reflecting my evolution. Even my writing style is different. What has remained constant is my outlook. I see this as a solitary endeavour. If there is at least one person out there who finds my publications and learns something from them, it is a bonus. I am happy, but I still did what I did out of an inner need: to speak my mind in earnest.

Early on, I realised that my friends/classmates were not necessarily interested in the same things I was and did not have the enthusiasm for writing/reading that I had/have. It is why I started to only write as a means of expressing myself. When I decided to do videos, I did it because I wanted to keep practising my English skills. Maybe I should do it with French at some point, but it is hard to have a multilingual website.

I was doing “alla prima” early on, though I was not consistent with it. Some publications took me more than one sitting. The last several years, maybe since pre-Covid, have been especially easy in this regard. I write the article in one go or record the video and just send it.

Perhaps there is merit to the idea of building an audience at the outset. It all comes down to what your priorities are and what you are trying to achieve. If, for instance, you are bent on monetising your platform, then you must play the game we covered earlier. Otherwise you simply do your thing and allow things to happen organically.

Will the organic approach guarantee results? No, but why would that be relevant given the intent behind it? If you are publishing as a means of self-exploration, then you already get what you ask for. Everything else is extra.

Not targeting an audience guarantees that you remain true to yourself throughout the stages of your intellectual development. Otherwise, you have a strong incentive to role play and to ultimately sell what you think people are demanding.

As someone who mostly acquired my skills on my own, this resonates heavily with me. Feeling alienated from school, I found reprieve in working with technology and finding my own niche skills. I had always valued experience over output, and believe that this is what truly matters for me.

It is good to know what works for you and what does not. This way you focus on the things that appeal to you and become good at them. Doing it your own way also means that you will be somewhat unorthodox in at least some of your methods, which sometimes is what gives that special quality to your work. Formal qualifications are important, though they can be overrated.

Perhaps, because of me being young and inexperienced, I am also drawn to seeing my work in the lens of how it could help people and what people will see me as. After all, why do we write and create if not to show ourselves to the world, to be understood? Of course, this does not necessarily have to be in conflict with my journey of improvement and self-reflection. But I realize the importance of balancing both, and how easy it is to fall on either side.

You are right: there is no conflict here. The motivation to help others is strong and will give you the impetus you need to press on with your interests. Besides, teaching others involves learning as well. Even somebody who knows nothing about a given topic will inevitably provide you with at least a new data point about how a beginner deals with the situation.

The key is to not expect that others will quickly line up to hear what you have to say. That can happen over time. In the meantime, you will need to show consistency and the commitment it entails.

It feels a bit lonely that these deep insights and interests lead to me feeling isolated from others, and it was quite disheartening to see active rejection because I was perceived as a new user with no credentials or expertise. The reason I created the article was because I wanted to see change happen in the world, and not even having the opportunity to share it makes me feel like I have failed.

It is disheartening to be dismissed for who you are rather than what you are saying, I know. And it will be lonely more often than not because there are not many out there who (i) stand at the same intersection you are on of current knowledge/ability and research orientation, while (ii) also knowing about you. The idea that “great minds think alike” may be true though it should come with the proviso “but they do not know about each other’s presence and are unlikely to meet early on.”

That granted, even such disheartening treatment has didactic value: it is not too bad. You learn how people behave out there sometimes, i.e. like a pack of wolves, and you understand that you will have to earn your place through sustained effort. The days of being cuddled and welcomed are long gone.

To use an analogy from my days playing football, when I was promoted to train with the men’s team, I was not treated as the boy I still was. No! I was given the adult treatment: strong challenges, hard tackles, and harsh language. I thus had to fight for my place and earn my keep. You think you are tough because you are a bit older and bigger? Let me show you what tenacity is!

This is not about being vindictive, but about building up tolerance for adversity. There are people out there who will be your friends or who, anyway, are well-meaning. Others will be nasty and combative. And everything in between. What you will realise though, which is the essence of sport, is that your fiercest competitor is actually your greatest colleague: by pushing you to your limits, they empower you to be the best version of yourself. In the absence of a challenge, we get complacent, sloppy, and ultimately ineffective.

Maybe those people are wrong in the way they rejected you: they can benefit from refining their communications skills. But ignore the means and focus on the salient point. They are still telling you in their unpleasant way how you have to build up your credibility, which you will do one step at a time by committing to the task long-term.

As for changing the world, you are already on the right path. You changed something about yourself. You took the time to do something you care about. Keep it up and observe how the world continues to evolve partly in response to your deeds.

But, in a way, I have still taken the time to work on something that I truly cherish. Feeling disappointed is me disregarding the effort I have put into this. I’ve taken the time to reflect and engage with the topic critically, which already puts me beyond the noise and violent hatred of many on the internet. I shouldn’t let something like that go to waste!

Well put! The work you do is worthwhile also because it has a compounding effect: the more you do it, the better you get at it. So even if a single case is not enough, the cumulative effect can be rewarding.

This morning I witnessed something extraordinary. A black dog and a red fox were playing together in a vinyard. I spotted them fairly close to my house on my way back home. The sun was still behind the mountain. Local time was around half past five. The dog was chewing on a plastic bottle, tossing it up in the air and catching it on the way down, while the fox was right behind observing in anticipation. The demeanour of the fox reminded me of cats: careful and measured. The dog was as boisterous as I have come to expect of their species.

Judging by how the dog was playing with the bottle, I surmise it was young though clearly not a puppy. I do not know much about foxes to make an educated guess. This one looked smaller than others I have seen roaming the mountains, presumably on their prowl. I assume those that go hunting are adults so this one must have been young like the dog. It clearly was not a kit though. Adult foxes are still small, anyway. Maybe they are the same size as the landrace of cat we have in Cyprus.

I attempted to approach the two animals, knowing that my presence would most likely scare them away. I wanted to get a closer look and test their response. Walking at my normal pace, I came within ten metres of their location. The dog stood at around 35 centimetres tall at the withers. Its ears were floppy and its snout was fairly long. These are the features of a scenthound, especially popular with small game hunters (there is no big game here).

Many hunters I have known are irresponsible dog handlers. They treat animals as tools, keeping them confined to small cages during the week and letting them run around only for hunting purposes. Dogs that are not good enough at their task are either culled or abandoned in the wilderness. Whenever I see a skinny scenthound in the wild, I can tell that it was the victim of abuse at the hands of a hunter. These dogs are scared of people. I have tried to feed them on multiple occasions, but have always failed to calm them down. They run away as fast as they can. Their distrust for humans is such that they are unlikely to be domesticated again, while they also lack the skills to survive on their own. The life of abused hunting dogs is cruel and short.

Other abused dogs turn aggressive and are dangerous. This includes tiny dogs, like those otherwise cute chihuahuas that some ladies treat as fashion accessories. They bark at everyone and show their teeth. Though nobody takes them seriously, owning to their apparent lack of strength. Larger breeds, like pitbulls, rottweilers, and dobermans exhibit the same antisocial ferocity with the added disadvantage of having the sheer power to kill even an able-bodied man. Dog shelters eventually have to euthanise such specimens.

It is not necessarily malice that causes harm. Negligence is enough to mistreat an animal. I once helped a guy train his Siberian husky. He got the dog as a gift for his two baby daughters. This was their fluffy little friend. Good intentions, yes, but terrible choice regardless. Huskies are large animals who require a space to expend their seemingly boundless enthusiasm. They are sled dogs, after all, and the Siberian steppes stretch as far as the eye can see. Huskies need a handler who will match their intelligence as well as their intensity. This guy could not cope with the demands because he was out working all day. The daughters were obviously too little to handle the situation and the mother was also at work. The dog thus had an untimely end.

Most people should never have a dog. At least not without prior training. Even the toy-sized canines have the genes of their apex predator relatives, the wolves. More so for breeds that are assertive and animal aggressive to varying degrees, including my own pets, Atlas and Raizou. Without proper socialisation and a daily outlet for their energy, dogs become a liability as they are unsuitable for life among humans.

This morning’s black dog must not have belonged to a hunter and was not left to die in these parts. It would not have survived for so long. Plus, it looked healthy. It did flee as soon as it noticed me, though its body language was communicating caution rather than fear: it did not ran as fast as it could. The fox stood still for a couple of seconds, not knowing how to react. It then turned around and ran towards the nearest bush. It too was acting cautiously. I could still see it amid the foliage but decided to disengage.

I suspect there is more to this story. At around four o’clock this morning, I heard a canine drinking water from a bucket that I keep right outside my room. It could have been this black dog. Unless foxes produce the same familiar sound when they drink water. I have thought of leaving food around. Though I have to be careful not to tame the fox. I may be trustworthy but it is better for its own sake to be wary of humans. Otherwise, I fear it will eventually show faith in some hunter, only to be turned into a trophy; a token of vanity and disrespect.

I just got home from a two-hour walk. For ~10 years now, my dogs have been accompanying me in my hikes. Availability has been our best ability. Not a single day missed since I first got them, no matter the weather conditions (and, thankfully, I have not been ill once). Throughout this decade we would go out at least two times a day, one early in the morning and another at night. The exact times would depend on the season. During the summer, the early morning and late night hours are the best options. Whereas in the winter it is better to wait for the sun to come out and then to not delay the next excursion until too late in the evening.

Recent months have been different. The dogs do not have the same tenacity anymore. They are more picky about when to go out and how far to venture into the mountain. If they do not feel like walking, they simply stay back and let me walk alone. Perhaps they also do not need to cover so much ground now. The land around the hut is part of the natural milieu. They can go out whenever they feel like. As there are no neighbours or a built-up area in my immediate vicinity, the dogs do not even wear a collar and are always off leash. Contrast that to the small, closed spaces they had to occupy in years prior. This simply is the best dwelling they could ever have.

The combination of them ageing and the hut’s environment giving them an outlet for their personhood has resulted in me going for increasingly more solo walks. It is expected to feel sad about this state of affairs. I remember, for example, how Atlas and I would sprint uphill to start our hike with intensity. These days are gone. What remains is a memory and the unchanging desire to live honestly. When I go out, I still perform the same ritual: a burst of pace followed by a vigorous walk. Only now there are cases where nobody is there to share my enthusiasm. Those will eventually become the new normal.

Life expectancy for dogs the size of my own is around 12 years, with 14 being on the upper end. In other words, we are not far away from the inevitability of death. I cannot know the ultimate “why” the human life is that much longer than that of our beloved pets. Sure, there are intermediate explanations such as evolutionary theory, but they cannot delve into the essence of things. The essence is not our domain. All we have once we push against the limits is faith. We can give the beyond names and ascribe to it attributes which we believe it has, though there is no way for us to know for sure. Otherwise it would not be a terminus.

“God” is an alias for “I do not know for sure and am hopeful thus.” Those who purport to have certainty wield fire and steel in the name of “the truth.” The rest remain dubitative. Perhaps the gods of this world have arranged things in such a way to give us the opportunity to learn something about the cosmos. By outliving dogs we get to experience a microcosm, a full life cycle, and then live on with the knowledge we have accumulated and the feelings it has engendered. “For what?” We can only speculate. The cosmic music is playing, everybody is dancing, and we are on the dance floor. So we might as well dance along. It is a universal pulse, a continuous cycle of transfiguration as forms come and go in this continuum of everlasting life.

By understanding the dogs, I have figured out humans. We are far more animalistic than we dare to admit. Or, to put it differently, we think we are vastly superior to other animals, when we are not. Look past somebody’s rationalisations and politeness to spot the animal within. It is not too difficult. Preaching alone will not do. There has to be action. Whatever remains limited to the mind ends up in the dustbin of history.

Give people what they need to deal with hunger, fear, beauty, excitement, discovery, achievement, recognition, love, domination, cooperation, challenge, violence, peace, solitude, community, indeterminacy. Neglect most of their facets, insist on only tending to some of them, and you get disorder; disorder which, nevertheless, begets disturbances whose counter forces reestablish order in the form of bringing forth the other facets of humankind that were hitherto suppressed.

One is not enough. All gods have their place. The pretty and the ugly. When the animal spirits are rendered apparent and the human is seen for what it actually is, stripped of its pretences, we can develop sympathy and understanding by not taking everything to heart. At its root, all disappointment in people consists in thinking of them as something greater than they are.

As I am writing this, a bee-eater sits on a branch across my window looking at my direction. Most of its body is covered in blue and green feathers. I can discern a white patch on its chest and accents of yellow around its neck. Another summer is upon us!

There will be a day when my dogs will die and another day when I will die too. Maybe soon, maybe far into the future. We come alone and leave alone, establishing connections along the way. Ephemera is all we get. These are the workings of this world for which we have no definitive answers. I am powerless to affect the cosmic magnitudes and have learnt to accept whatever comes my way. What I can do is try to muster all my energy in honouring what my dogs have given me and will continue to offer until their last breath. For as long as I tread these paths, I will remember to be present in my presence, to live wholeheartedly without complaining, and to not wait for that which is elusive.

I remember when I was a little kid growing up in rural Greece how me and the boys would argue with each other over whose uncle was the coolest. “My uncle beats yours” was the usual claim, followed by justifications that ranged from plausible to preposterous. None of this was ever put to the test: our relatives had families and were peaceful people. We were just talking and having fun. Perhaps, unbeknownst to us, we were in fact sharpening our argumentative skills while learning to cope with evolving social dynamics. Nature is full of games with a deeper didactic value, after all.

The cool uncle figure has to be realistic. His “wow factor” consists in (i) being approachable as someone the boys can someday meet and emulate, (ii) actually be competent and look the part as well, and (iii) be capable of taking matters into his own hands when the situation is unfavourable. The relative who does not pass these criteria will naturally attract ridicule, which nobody wants to be at the receiving end of.

Comparisons are not limited to strength. They cover a broad range of skills from intelligence, to courage, to discipline, and perseverance. Though boys will immediately relate to the capacity for brute force because they have an intimate understanding it: it is part of their games and thus of their very socialisation.

Inexperienced mothers the world over panic whenever their son all but gets a scratch. A grandmother or some other elder had better be nearby to explain how things work, how “the baby” is fine, and to keep everybody calm. Some obvious exceptions notwithstanding, males need to be exposed to a degree of controlled hardship, both physical and mental, to understand that, regardless of what they do in life, deeds matter more than words.

This is the most important lesson I have learnt and is why I am not fond of too much theorising about life that does not get distilled into a modus vivendi. Playing football, for example, involves physical contact, including crunching tackles and the occasional fist fight with those who are sore losers. If a player cannot take a hit, then they have no right to talk big. Similarly, if a player cannot accept defeat, then they are taught the lesson of acceptance the hard way.

In my experience, the bully types, those who prey on the most vulnerable, are people who (i) cannot live up to their claims, (ii) do not yet understand the need of recalibrating their goals to match their skills and have thus not accepted who they are, (iii) do not recognise how they can lose fairly in whatever contest they participate in, and (iv) exploit an unfair advantage to reign supreme while pretending they did not commit any foul play. In essence, the bully suffers from a mismatch between their projected self and their actuality.

The idea that the most competent ones will be the most abusive is incorrect. The high achievers in any fair game, such as those who are good at football and who will kick your ass if you talk nonsense, know how hard it is to do what they are doing and they have no need whatsoever to prove their worth by picking on easy targets. Indeed, the high achiever thrives in competitiveness, in rising up to a greater challenge, as well as in maintaining their current level through continuous efforts. To their mind, winning a game on easy mode is a form of defeat or, at least, something they would not boast about.

The easy mode is preferable when it performs a pro-social function. I did this many times with my relatives, where I would feign weakness to give them a chance of competing with me. For example, I would pretend how my cousin, who was eight years old at the time versus eighteen-year-old me, would beat me on his PlayStation in a game of Pro Evolution Soccer. I would fumble the controls and concede easy goals on purpose. As soon as he would get cocky, I would switch gears to beat him 20-0 or something like that (in football, winning by more than three goals is already a resounding victory). He would cry in response only for me to explain how he got distracted from his previous wins and thus became complacent. The morale of the story is to not rest on your laurels.

There are variations on the cool uncle theme, such as with a father or elder brother performing the function of the superior male model. Though the uncle is the prevalent one. I think boys gravitate to the uncle for this specific role instead of the father or elder brother because they have everyday experience with the latter two, making their qualities more familiar and thus less noticeable.

Other relatives are not necessarily around all the time, adding a sense of mystery to their personality: they are close but not too close. There is room for the imagination there to fill in the blanks. Besides, the elder brother is likely to join a game sometime, only to be found inadequate. This is risky business if you are boy wanting to sound cool. I recall telling a classmate how I soundly beat his elder brother in football and how, therefore, his lofty standards were exaggerated and he was not living up to them anyway. The point was to quit yapping.

Fundamentally, the exercise is about learning to live in accordance with one’s claims. If you prop up your relative too much, then you are inviting challengers who will scrutinise your words and test your mettle. Better then back up your claims with actions or be ready for the reckoning with reality.

Where boys fall short is in appreciating the little things. Their capacity to discern nuance is underdeveloped and will only be sharpened later in life, perhaps in response to challenging situations that demand the skill of discerning nuance. It is why they must already be conditioned to deal with unsettling circumstances, else they risk collapsing under the pressure.

The cool uncle archetype is overcome by learning how to discern the permutations between the extremes and to spot understated qualities. This is when the boy becomes a man; when foresight and discernment are his defining features. There is correlation with age, of simply growing into an adult at, say, the age of twenty one, but years alone do not suffice. There has to be a qualitative shift in the person’s mental side, which happens through the accumulation of diverse experiences combined with self reflection.

We do not call somebody a “badass” for waking up early each day, for example, or for always showing up on time, or for not going paranoid in the face of uncertainty. No! In a sense, we take those for granted because of how germane to the quotidian experience they are. Yet they are not easy. They are the outward facet of capacities that have been built up and reinforced over time through patience and persistence. They are “basic powers”, in the sense of pertaining to the basis but also of being potent. The kind of person who is diligent about such everyday things has the mental fortitude to deal gracefully with more demanding tasks: their foundations are unshakeable. Boys at the playground are not yet ready to reason about this finer point. More so if they are cuddled the whole time.

Every day I try to read the websites I follow as well as research any interesting topic they mention. I am open to different perspectives and will give each side a fair chance. Most study sessions follow a predictable pattern of me learning more about a fairly narrowly defined issue. This day was an exception. My curiosity led me down the path of reading more about this “Rad Fem Hitler” (RFH) female character and then contrasting it with a completely unrelated memoir from another female, a primatologist called Keriann McGoogan, and her experience with wildlife conservation. Different people, different worlds, both revealing an aspect of the human condition. Concretely, these are the articles:

• How I Became A Misandrist, which tells us how the author vindicated her prejudice in hating men.
• Through Zuri’s eyes, which is a story about a gorilla and personal connections in general.

What I see as the main contrast between the two is the greater than life, social media engineered persona of the former, with the composed demeanour of the latter. RFH makes valid points against abusive men combined with unfair generalisations about males qua males. She echoes the same sentiment of distrust and perhaps disgust that misogynists have about females, only directing it towards men. In this regard, she reflects what is already there. RFH is yet another emanation of an impulse that is common in our world, namely, of putting people into groups based on some invariant feature of theirs, not seeing the diversity within each group and the commonalities across groups, and then treating each person as if they embody all of the undesired traits prevalent in their respective group.

Furthermore, RFH has this increasingly common quality of political commentary which is so over the top to the point where it appears as a parody of its own position. Any given statement could be interpreted as some exaggerated remark meant to induce laughter but could also be seen as a true expression of the person’s beliefs. What we take seriously often starts out as a joke, after all. It is a matter of how much we buy into it. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, comedy or not, including blanket generalisations about how all men are these downright terrible beings. It does not speak to me, just how the masculinity merchants fail to impress me.

Keriann’s story has a completely different vibe to it. It describes the genuine connection a human can feel with another animal, in this case a gorilla called “Zuri.” We learn about the struggles of gorillas and the specific difficulties that Zuri was facing. Some humans were there to help the animals. Other humans are responsible for endangering wildlife and threatening it with extinction. The picture about humankind is thus one of admixture between extremes. Certain parts are nice, others ugly. Keriann’s connection with the gorilla extends to other interpersonal affairs and then to concerted actions for some common good. We are reminded of the nuances of this world and how not all hope is lost.

Through our initiatives we can stand for something more lofty than casually hating others. Ultimately, Keriann tells us about personal stories which we find all around us, yet we may be underappreciating or overlooking, simply because they are not exaggerated enough. Amid the vicious people there are virtuous ones. Where there is crime, love exists as well. This has always been the case and each of us can do their part in contributing a little bit to their immediate experience and that of others in their milieu.

I have never met a gorilla though I can relate to Keriann’s feelings through my many years of living with dogs. I have two. My dogs always wag their tail at me when they notice me and I smile back at them, giving them the attention they want: sometimes a little scratch under the snout, at others a hug or a kiss on the forehead. I do it for me and for them. It is simple and beautiful. Animals show us how we do not need something elaborate to be happy. It is about the little things.

With humans it gets complicated really quickly if we do not try to get along. We need to be patient and show empathy, else we misunderstand one another. Every word has the potential to be treated with suspicion and each initiative can be perceived as instrumental to some malicious ulterior end. The typical urban setting either creates or exacerbates the phenomenon, because each person is an individual among strangers. Most people do not have a permanent residence. They move places subject to the ups and downs of the business cycle. One cannot tell who lives next door, let alone who their neighbour’s relatives and friends are and what their backstory is. This sort of community, of sharing a place and a culture with familiar people, mostly exists in rural areas. Adults in the city tread with extreme caution, while kids are not allowed to play outside, living in the permanent captivity of their walls and computers.

Internet spaces are inadequate substitutes for in-person communities. They do provide us with a sense of belonging, while they offer us much valuable information or engagement. What they typically lack is the face-to-face human experience. Users of a service are avatars with pseudonyms who, like the city life, come and go out of nowhere into anonymity. The connections are more about the topics of common interest rather than those involved. One will not, for example, get much emotional support about their everyday struggles from their mechanical keyboard enthusiast group. Not that it is impossible to develop such connections online, but that those are not the default.

I suspect that at the root of the hateful attitude, in all of its manifestations, is the lack of personal attachment. Our interactions are increasingly done through proxies. All we see is a picture or a handle, which is not representative of a person. Each one has a profile, corresponding to a persona that may or may not express a facet of their self. Avatars are the intermediaries, subject to the dictates of the underlying platform’s algorithms. When we exchange views with someone, we are effectively dealing with a wall of text. Even when an Internet stranger harbours no ill will, we cannot feel any warmth. Or maybe we do by inferring it from the text, except then we have to wonder whether we are just imagining things. Text is distant no matter what. Chatbots only reinforce the sense that there is no meaningful distinction between a robot that impersonates someone and a person who is reduced to robotic forms of communication. We do not get to see each other in the eyes, non-verbal communication is not present, the context of each person is missing. In short, these conditions generate misunderstandings.

Social media has turbocharged our propensity for black-or-white kind of descriptions. Nuance is lost as we oscillate from one extreme position to the other. This is not limited to a certain political group, mind you. It is the norm across the political spectrum. The way it is typically expressed is through the reduction of a complex set of features to a singular defining characteristic. Think of concepts such as “men”, “women”, “trans”, “blacks”, and so on. At a basic level, these terms have descriptive value. Yet what we learn from them is limited and ultimately counterproductive if taken as the sole input. They do not—and cannot—capture the diversity within the group they name. For example, the concept of “all men” includes everybody from saints to warmongers or, to connect to Keriann’s article, it covers both the poachers and the conservationists. We can find cases at the edges of the analytical extremes and others that will be some permutation in between. It then is a matter of responsibility to delve into the specifics, to do the work of understanding people beyond the superficiliaties. Assuming responsibility and doing the hard work is not easy, of course, hence our predicament.

The story of connecting with Zuri the gorilla teaches us that we can be friends despite our differences. The likes of RFH and all who trade in hatred are not the main problem. If anything, they are the victims who then go on to victimise others. What we need is spaces where we can meet each other without filters; spaces where we subsist collectively and are exposed to real people who contribute to our shared material conditions; spaces where solidarity is felt. To me, this entails a greater degree of decentralisation away from the meat grinder of the megalopolis. In the countryside we find more benign natural rhythms, cleaner air, and encouraging open vistas filled with birds and plants of all sorts. Nature beyond humans but also with humans is all around us, yet we cannot see it while we are being distracted by our squabbles and their concomitant reward mechanisms.

I’ve been thinking about an interesting topic, related to philosophical maturity, and that is how to actually face life according to your beliefs. I mean, for example, you can be the most stoic man alive, you read Marcus Aurelius, Séneca, etc, but when the time to rise to the ocassion arrives (for example, someone close to you dies or you have to face newage problems like feeling stuck or depressed or whatever) you chicken out an recurr to escapism through drugs, social media, porn, food, videogames, you name it.

There isn’t a real answer to this since most tendencies just tell you to man up or provide ridicule solutions which avoid the main problem.

To me, this scenario is a case of “book smart” versus “street smart”. The person has a good grasp of theory but not much in the way of practice. A college graduate may fall in this category. They have a lot of ideas of how the world ought to be, but have yet to see the ugly side of our reality. Their understanding of hardship and adversity comes from some piece of literature and is devoid of a visceral response. When a person operates in the world of theory for too long and when they do it from the comfort of a safe space, they lose sense of danger or urgency. The matters they wrestle with have no emotional component. They are mere nodes in a graph of conceptual connections.

Book smart is highly rated in our society because it is tied to formal qualifications. Those are a proxy for intelligence and a track record of conformity during school years, but also for social status and future outcomes. Street smart is not formalised, does not have a vocabulary rich in obscure professorial jargon, develops without checks from authoritative figures like teachers, and lacks that aura of sophistication higher education bestows upon a person. Yet it provides an unfiltered insight into the phenomena. The world is seen as-is, stripped of its pretences to intellectuality but also to all those piles of etiquette, politeness, and nicety, which obfuscate whatever underlying savagery.

The desert fathers, specially St. Anthony the Great, said that you must face life itself at is comes, pushing forward, because otherwise you’d have done a pilgrimage to the desert just to flee away, this is also theoretically explained by many other figures such as St. John of the Cross and his Dark Night of the soul.

But the point here is that no one is able to provide a real solution that can fit the average Joe (one size doesn’t fits all, but I think you get the idea).

This sounds right to me. Fundamentally, talk is cheap. As the English football legend Jamie Vardy said “Chat shit? Get banged.” This is the kind of crude language you develop when you are street smart. Its defiance of manners shocks the polite society. There is not enough euphemism to it perhaps; no je ne sais quoi. Yet it speaks the truth. And it does so by going straight to the point: you have to back up all those lofty words, otherwise they mean nothing. Same principle for deeds that are done to seek attention/validation, which are virtue signalling writ large.

To me, the role of theory is to give us a big picture view of the situation. It helps us connect the dots in our experience. Though it is no substitute for our day-by-day struggles. As such, it cannot provide a solution for everybody. That is not its job. Each person is dealing with a unique configuration of factors at each time. Only they know what ultimately can and cannot work for them under the prevailing conditions. Some general points hold true for everybody, though those are not enough to provide clear guidance.

This is where communities come in. No-one is equally good at all tasks. Some are better at practical skills while others excel when they deal with abstractions. They all need each other. People benefit from such arrangements materially but also emotionally. If a friend asks to talk, there is trust between us: we know not to divulge secrets, but also not to mince words.

How can we make oneselves truly inherit that knowledge and willpower? Should we resign and just wait for life to teach us this kind of things through suffering and failure?

I think willpower is overrated. And no, I do not mean it in the sense that “you do not have free will whatsoever” because that line of thinking takes you nowhere: as soon as you follow it up with a call to action, you are contradicting yourself. Willpower is overrated because it is assumed to be this boundless force that we can tap into on a whimsy. But we cannot fake it. Some tasks are incredibly hard to do when there is no necessity for them.

I think the way it works is that we have this reservoir of vitality that is there for moments of crisis. Call it “survival instinct”, or “the wolf within”, or “super saiyan”. I do not care. It is that untamed side of ours. It only comes forth when we are pressed to the brink by the prevailing conditions. At the point where we are close to breaking, we either break and wither away or find the mental fortitude to fight back. When you are in the mode of grinding your teeth as you are doing important stuff, you know that you are powered by that inner force. It does not last forever though, so you have to make the most out of the opportunity.

Willpower, that capacity for initiative, does exist, though it is counterbalanced by inertia. Practically every fibre of our being resists change. To actually force things to happen, we have to either be in a moment of crisis, as noted above, or try to introduce small tweaks to our life, one at a time. For example, start by making your bed every morning. Put cold water on your face as soon as you wake up. Shake that sense of stability a little bit and make it a little more malleable in the process. These sort of small things, which are kind of boring and uncomfortable, add up to benign habits.

The key is to do them consistently. There is no excuse not to. The few little things gradually become the many little things and then those turn into the plenty major things. It is a matter of keeping the momentum going, day after day, year after year. As such, when you see someone who is disciplined, you know they have worked a lot on the basics which often go unnoticed. It is not difficult to do the basics, though it requires patience because change does not happen overnight: this sort of commitment is for a lifetime.

As I’ve told you before, while I do understand the implications of human nature and the limits of wit and willpower, I think that those concepts are subjugated to the soul and one’s beliefs, which can enhance our capabilities and performances inmensely. I recall the drowning rats’ experiment, where the one that was “saved” once tried to survive for 60 hours, while the one that was left stranded only lasted 15 minutes.

Yes, this is a great example and I agree with your point. What is inchoate in my writing is the view that our behavioural patterns are both (i) informed by our core beliefs and (ii) feed back into our beliefs to ultimately refine or alter them. This is best understood in the conception of selfhood, which evolves to reflect the stimuli we are exposed to: it is in a process of becoming, subject to a feedback loop. In the example of the drowning rat, its prior experience of survival has taught it something that it internalises as “I am actually capable of this and it is all a matter of committing to the task in earnest”, which then makes it put in that immense effort. The rat which drowns quickly effectively believes that it cannot do anything, because it has no experience of ever doing it, which is thus internalised as “I am inherently incapable of doing it.”

Couched in those terms, the habits I allude to are not important in themselves. They are there to put us in the flow of pushing against inertia, of trying to up the intensity in a controlled environment, and discover more about our limits. Maybe we do not want to subject ourselves to near-death situations, though the mechanism is the same: the more we explore, the more we broaden our view of self and the associated beliefs.

I suspect this would apply to a believer in God as well. Someone who casually believes in God will likely not show that unshakeable commitment when crisis strikes. Why? Perhaps because their faith is of the “book smart” sort that I mentioned earlier and is thus devoid of any experiences that make the faith feel real.

Mechanical actions and small steps towards a goal are necessary, and even compulsory in certain situations, when it comes to get out of depression or self harming behavior, but it’s not enough to “evolve” or to “mature” as a human being.

No, they are not enough. What they do is help us build up some capacity and set things in motion. The evolution happens in response to some greater force, which we will check right below.

Getting back to Dragon Ball Z, let me recall in the Cell Saga when Gohan was training with Goku in the time chamber; he went through a lot of small habits, routines and habit schedules, but he struggled like hell to become super saiyan for the first time. Something snapped inside of him, same as when Vegeta got his SSJ for training on the moon at the verge of death - in those scenarios, something greater that efford emerged and trasformed them (literally).

I mentioned super saiyans earlier exactly because I think this story is didactic. Though I did forget the details of Gohan’s saga, my view is that the heroes in the story reach that point when they are faced with an immense challenge combined with a powerful emotional impulse. Of course, they are long in the habit of doing the “little things” I have mentioned, which in their case is the continuous training they subject themselves to.

Goku only turns into a super saiyan for the first time when (i) he witnesses his loved ones die at the hands of a villain, hence there is a visceral response and not simply some thought experiment, (ii) the planet he is on is about to explode, so there is no more time for indecision and he has to operate with a “now or never” mindset, and (iii) he finally lets go of the self-inhibiting belief he likely had that the super saiyan level is some exclusive club that he was not meant to be a part of. The circumstances force our hero to focus and to let go of now-irrelevant beliefs, to realise that he can be more than what he always thought he was capable of, and to continue pushing the boundaries.

The way I see it, someone has to keep practising to improve their self. But only when crisis comes will they be ready to grow beyond the normal limits. It is no coincidence that “crisis”, a word derived from Greek, literally means “judgement” (hence “critical thinking”, “critique”, and related). The moment of crisis is the moment of separating truth from falsehood, the tenable from the untenable. Through the crisis, we learn who we truly are, not who we think we should be. In its most common form, this will be expressed as the letting go of our persona, of our elaborate role-playing propensities which we internalised as our selfhood, such as “me the quiet and obedient labourer who never complains”, in favour of the now-emerging “me the assertive individual who will henceforth face challenges head on.”

Saint Agustine, who was once a cultist heretic, started his conversion and battled most of his life against lust, even saying once “O Lord, give me chastity, but not yet”, as he knew that his behavior was contrary to his beliefs, but still struggled with it for almost a lifetime. Later in life, he finally found “rest in the arms of the Lord”, but the thought process and the developing as a person he went through (specially after his son’s death) isn’t explained in depth, and still, even if someone could fully understand his reasoning, they wouldn’t be able to simply live on St. Augustine’s image.

I think we would not be able to live accordingly exactly because our knowledge of his life would be theoretical. Without that visceral part, we are not subject to the forces that push a person to transform. Also, without the day-by-day experience, we cannot put ourselves in the flow of creating new possibilities while abandoning old ones. We are not in the same state of being.

The question here is, what changed in these individuals? What made figures like St. Teresa D’Ávila endure that much pain, be righteous, holy even, at their time? Out of the religious area, what kind of perfected willpower, of spiritual fortitude, of incredible belief in oneself’s truth, made Socrates accept his death in one of the most honorable and calm ways? How did Sisyphus become happy?

I do not know the specifics for those examples. All I can give you is speculation. My suspicion is that they went through the rigours, experienced events as opposed to talking about theories of events, and thus found the strength to commit to their faith. Though for there to be a faith in the first place, they must have been exposed to something which instilled in them the sense that what they believe in is real. Just as with the example of the drowning rat which has already felt what escaping death is like and is then empowered by hope to keep trying for as long as possible.

Think of it this way. There are lots of monks but considerably fewer saints. They all go through the same rigours of the monastic life, but only some of them become saints. Is it that most of them are faking it or that there is something there in the prevailing conditions that does not push them past the edge? I have to believe that the latter is generally the case. We may then say that “the circumstances”, or simply God, decide who will be put to the test and thus who will ascend to the next level. It is not a matter of the individual to decide. All the individual can do is the daily work.

This all connects to the notion of willpower. It is not simply because those people wanted to be better, saintly, super saiyans, or whatever. They were forced to become as much. The crisis, the judgement, was about their character: it showed them who they really were.

In most of these paradigms, necesity wasnt inheritantly there, so they created their own way forward. This wasnt about watering the plants because if not those would die, rather about having such a stric belief’s system and moral code that it could outlast anything, even death.

We are saying the same thing but focusing on different parts of it. I agree that watering the plants does not push you to the next level. What I do say though is that watering the plants with commitment prepares you to be in the state of body/mind where you can endure increasingly more challenging events. If Goku is sitting on his couch all day, he is not going to become a super saiyan. Yet training all day does not make him a super saiyan either. It is the continuous training combined with the necessity of the situation which pushes him to the next level.

Nowadays the risks of being killed for one’s faith are little in most of the world, and that scenario is kinda out of our daily life scope, but for me, a secular scholar, its something I aspire to be able to do if the time comes. I shall not be afraid, as the righteous hand of my Lord, the Living God, protects me, but will I?

We mentioned core beliefs earlier. The test is whether we are prepared to let go of aspects of our self that we once cherished, or if we are willing to abandon some prior state of comfort. This is how the old self dies when crisis hits us. Unflinching commitment in the face of death is proof of one’s readiness. Though even less severe situations may prove as much. For example, someone is willing to abandon their career to become more virtuous, even if that comes at a high material and social cost. It is not death, though it is the end of a certain lifestyle which is pleasurable in some ways.

The main answer I am seeking is how does this maduration process go; when does someone achieve that raw ataraxia-like state of mind, how does someone truly overcome the trials of the post industrial revolution world, specially those that are designed to screw you like social media, hiper palatable foods and such. How is it that someone is able to put the knowledge, gnosis even, he gained through life experiencies and other’s experiences (friends, books, you name it) in practice? I understand that this isn’t achievable in days, nor months, or even years, but still, is a question that bothers me.

How does one actually become what he is ought to be?

Since you mention food, let me give you my story. Twenty years ago, I decided to stop consuming junk food. I also quit drinking so-called “soft drinks” which are equally harmful. I used to eat junk food from time to time until I suffered a major injury which ended the prospect of a career in football. It was then time for me to recover my strength and get back to the fitness levels I had. Junk food is delicious, sure, though it is among the most unhealthy meals you can have.

The first days were extremely hard because I had to force myself not to desire those meals. I would physically withdraw from places that served them and would even take a different route back home just to not subject myself to the temptation. The temptation is that inner voice of self-deception which is like “oh, I will just cheat this one time, but then I will try harder for the rest of the week.” This never works: it is all or nothing. Otherwise, you keep falling back to where you started and may even be worse off each time.

Anyway, at the beginning I had to do all this active effort, but over time I felt the draw less and less, until the very yearning was gone. Now, even if I have junk food in front of me, I do not feel tempted to grab a bite. Same idea for sweets, alcohol, etc.

What I experienced is a transition from active effort, to a habit that is second nature, to evolution in conscience. I always knew that junk food was unhealthy, but it was only until I started to suffer that I understood what had to be done and found the requisite decisiveness.

To your final question then, one becomes the best version of their self when (i) they meticulously work on the little things and (ii) go through crises which effectively kill whatever self-inhibiting falsehoods were there. Both are essential. Having only the first is okay, but ultimately keeps you stagnant in the realm of whatever comforts you were always in. While getting the second without the first will likely destroy you (imagine if Goku fought Frieza without ever doing any training—he would be annihilated in an instance).

I have to reach those heights (metaphorically, I hope), because if not I’ll be incomplete. I cannot bear the pressure of being a hypocrite, of knowing how should I behave, how should I act, that the Truth and the Living God has called me by name and I am not ready to answer because I’ve been socially engineered into extreme doses of dopamine.

For nowadays standards I am doing good. But I seek something deeper. I have discipline to work, study, workout, and mostly do fine navigating the old issues of life (for now), but I still don’t have it yet.

The socially engineered part is the challenge in this case. It does not have to be a life or death situation, but any kind of dynamic that involves overcoming the inertia, the conformity with what is, the easy way out, the established norms, the conventional wisdom.

Getting back to the Saiyans, not all of them attained a transformation through despair and suffering; Trunks and Goten, the sons of Vegeta and Goku, were able to attain this form effordlessly, with a playful approach and attitude towards it. There is something beyond calamity that can push us to new heights. Something greater, more realible. But I do not know what that is yet.

Yes, it is entirely possible for another way here. Note that “crisis” is not the same as disaster though, even if the two are closely related in many cases. It is about some situation forcing us to challenge the accepted view of how things are.

About Trunks and Goten, this connects to what we covered earlier about the importance of the community, which empowers us in different ways. They learned from their relatives, all of whom were high achievers. Trunks was training hard every day with Vegeta, who always had that single-minded commitment to push himself to the limit. Goku was the same in practice, but would not make a big deal about it. Also, the Trunks who time-travels to the past to tell Goku of the bad news, is living in a dystopia: androids are destroying his world and he is not capable to fight them back. And then, we have to consider how Gohan, once considered superior to Goku, could never reach the same heights again and even regressed as the story went on, exactly because he could not recapture that “now or never” kind of decisiveness due to the lifestyle he adopted; a lifestyle that effectively limited him in this regard.

[…] And that Works most of the time with everyday issues, but not always when it comes to triggers dessigned to mess around with my reptile brain and my dopamine receptors.

There may be something here with regard to dopamine and compulsive behaviours that needs more attention. You may not be able to name it because it is deep inside and it is not clear yet what it is. This is where faith comes in to keep you going. You have done well. It is a matter of continuing.

I converted due to an extremely terrible state of affairs which you already know about. And, at first, I was thinking that I was about to become the greatest mystic, the best Christian, that everything would go smoothly, and development would come steady. Oh boy, could I have even been more wrong. To progress I had to attune myself to daily prayers, study the bible, the mystics, theology, outside traditions like gnosticism, mysticism and apocrypht texts, and it wasn’t after countless hours of struggle, of small stepts, that I and the people that surrounded me, started noticing changes.

I want to recall an especific moment that may be dull, dumb, beta or chilldish to many, but that I think you will appreciate:

One of the things that caught my attention when I started lurking into philosophy was the idea of overcoming life’s challenges; Plato, Hesse, Papini, Borges even, Stendhal, Marcus Aurelius, Séneca, Epictetus, all of them had something interesting but that felt “empty”. And then I found a stream of consciousness that told me that I must forgive my enemies and pray for their wellbeing; “well that’s retarded”, “that goes against human nature”, “that’s impossible”. Four years later, after countless hours of kneeling, praying and studying, it came to me, I understood something, I was able to ignite a flame within, not driven by calamity but love and virtue. I found myself crying at prayer, forgiving people whose actions have been torturing me for years, even thanking them for the lessons they made me learn even unintentionally. I grasped Grace, or gnosis, or consequence with my beliefs. You name it. But it was gorgeous.

That must have been a unique experience. You forgiving those people was you relinquishing control over the relevant thoughts+feelings. In effect, you were leaving behind something that had become a part of yourself. The “old self” is no more.

After that, the main questions that I provided you arrived. How does one surpass our nature and challeges inmobility of the soul, how does one push forward and look into the eyes of the desert? Are we bounded to rutine and pain-linked learning? How does one achieve something that they doesn’t understand? Does belief create strength, or does strength create belief?

It think it is circular: belief feeds into strength and strength into belief. This is what we also saw with the drowning rat. Though for belief to feed into strength and establish this virtuous cycle, it has to be believable. Belief pushes us to try and to keep trying, while signs of progress tell us that our belief is justified.

I guess, I’ll have to keep focusing on the basics. Feets on the ground, eyes on the stars.

Indeed. The “basics” are the small things, but also those that pertain to the “basis”, i.e. the ground upon which everything else is established. Working on the basics is a way to keep the foundations strong. But the foundation is not the same as the rest of the house: one requires the other to exist and their combination is what constitutes a house.

This is an excerpt from my journal.

Earlier today, I encountered two fox kits while doing my regular long walk around the mountains. Both of them were hiding under the bushes by the side of the dirt road. Their relatively large eyes fixed on me, while their short snouts were protruding from the foliage. I guess they were waiting for their mother to bring them food. I noticed them from afar but did not change my behaviour. The point was to not startle them. I was curious to learn how they would respond to my presence. My plan was to stick to my path and not disturb them at all, not even by trying to pet them or by making some noise. As soon as they saw me, they stopped moving. Exactly how cats react to some animal that is an unknown quantity to them. The foxes were cautious. Once I got within two metres of them, they ran down the slope until I could no longer see them. Their den must have been somewhere nearby.

About an hour later, I was on my way back home. Instead of going in a circle, as I usually do, I decided to return whence I came. My hope was to meet the babies one last time. Indeed, there they were. Just as sweet as before, if not more so. Still waiting for their mother. Part of me wanted to make an attempt at befriending them. I knew that they are wild animals, their cuteness notwithstanding, and I could probably help them sate their hunger. But would that be the right move? As I was walking past their location, I decided not to engage with them. Wildlife has to be left to its own devices. Were I to tend to them in that moment, assuming I could, I would be denying them of a valuable lesson that life teaches them. They have to be resilient out there: feed off the available prey and operate with the requisite caution to avoid dangers. Above all, foxes must remain wary of people if they are to survive. Humans have probably been a perennial existential threat to them. Some kill foxes for sport while hunting, others do it via entrapment.

What people do is cruel, though I know the underlying propensity is not specific to our species. Competing predators routinely try to exterminate each other to impose their dominion over the given territory. Dogs with a high prey drive, for example, hunt down cats and foxes. Wolves attack lynx, dogs, bears, and even other wolves from competing packs. Birds of prey do the same. I frequently witness crows attack eagles. A single crow, which is about four times smaller than an eagle, will engage in mid-air combat, and will hold its own while it waits for reinforcements. Eagles are vulnerable in the air and must always retreat in such cases. They are not nimble enough to manoeuvre in tight circles and thus cannot inflict any damage on their assailants without risking a lethal drop. Their effectiveness consists in attacking land-based targets using their mighty talons and incredible momentum. A crow, by comparison, has a wider range of motions and will use its beak while flying to cause harm to its target. It cannot hunt nearly as effectively though and must thus scavenge for food. This is how it is here. Even plants are ruthless in their own ways. I understand the underlying mechanics at play. Nature made it so we are faced with trade-offs.

Still, there is a better way to go about deterring our animal competitors. We do not need to hunt down foxes. Having a couple of dogs protect, say, the hen house is enough. A fox cannot overpower even a single medium-sized dog. No chance! They are closer to the size of an average cat. Some may even be smaller than that, given that their long fur contributes to their apparent volume. Foxes are not strong. They have to hunt using guile, as opposed to a dog which relies more on brute force and explosiveness. The hen house can also be better protected, such that no predator may access it. Furthermore, we can leave more space for wildlife to thrive outside our settlements. If, say, the fox can find food further away from where humans live, then it has no pressure to come our way.

The more I learn about our world, the more humble I become. I keep realising how each case is an admixture between the analytical extremes. On the one hand, I wish I could cuddle those baby foxes—they were so cute! On the other hand, I am well aware of the fact that I would not hesitate to show aggression towards them should the circumstances demand as much. Humans are beasts as well. Perhaps life as such is inherently this way. This is no excuse though to act mindlessly. We have reason and we can use it to control our capacity for violence by better measuring the scale of the challenge, while assessing the prevailing conditions. We can tell, for example, that no fox can seriously endanger our settlements. In this regard, peace is the state of affairs that is current when the dominant party restrains itself. Why? Because we do not need more than what we already have and we do not know what we will be losing if we eliminate all the counterweights to our own.

I have a new obsession now. Well, I suppose ‘obsession’ is a strong word. A new interest, let’s call it. Instead of living out the bizarre daily drama of addiction, I want to add my voice to those who’ve rendered legible the illegible, to write my way into an understanding of what derailed my life for so many years. And, rest assured, this interest doesn’t necessitate transcending who and how I am – in fact, I don’t want to transcend anything at all. Where I once sought to escape my own mind, I’m now fascinated by its machinery.

Rafael’s essay is an encouraging story of personal development, showing the potential we have to find meaning in quotidian affairs instead of seeking increasingly self-destructive adventures. This is the kind of transformation that inspires us to not lose sight of the bigger picture whenever we find ourselves facing a dead-end.

Yet it also is a reminder of the dangerous naivety with which our world expresses its fascination with psychedelics at-large. Medical experts, philosophers, new age spiritual leaders, and entrepreneurs are all promising to elevate our experience to heights that are normally inaccessible to us. Their value proposition is that we can rewire our brains, thus emancipating ourselves from whatever mental block or inherent limitations, while attaining enlightenment.

What is missing from such fabulous promises is the actuality of real people in everyday life where addiction to substances, devices, and activities is commonplace. Sure, assiduous use can, given the right guidance and appropriate conditions, contribute to something benign and enriching. This is worth exploring with caution, just how the ancient Greeks most probably were doing at the Eleusinian mysteries under the strict tutelage of their hierarchs in what was a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. Though when the chemicals are readily available in the open market, be it through legal or illegal means, we have to expect their misuse to become a regular event. As Rafael essentially admits, an addict has difficulty regulating their consumption, hence the abuse. And addiction is something that comes about naturally when the product is consumed casually, such as while meeting with friends in your backyard, for it turns into the precondition for whatever fun there is to be had in the given event.

To me, the reality of unrecoverable abuse is no mere theoretical downside. I have seen it unfold live many times, with the binging of so-called “magic mushrooms” and cacti extracts, as well as LSD, which destroyed those involved. It was no different than with heroin and other opioids. While we can argue from the safety of our armchair that, technically, psychedelics and the likes of heroin are not in the same category, the sort of person who abuses the latter will do the same with the former. Lots of people I cared about who came to this predicament either died too young or lived long enough to go mad. Technicalities are there to remind us how irrelevant the details are when the guardrails are off: the end result is the same—and it is ugly.

Unlike hard drugs which come with the widespread recognition that there is nothing profound about them, psychedelics are wrapped in a language of mystique, with references to exotic shamans and ancient sages. Those are the tutelary figures, the peerless authorities of wisdom whom we supposedly cannot comprehend with our normal brains. To argue against the abuse of such substances is to put yourself in the danger of being dismissed as a curmudgeon who does not understand the profundity of “tripping” and who remains stuck in some old-school, atavistic worldview. Whatever concerns one may express are dismissed as narrow-mindedness, as not understanding what the enlightened folk have realised through the revelation of hallucination.

This is what ultimately makes the discourse in favour of psychedelics pernicious. It starts with the presumption that it holds the high ground. Its truth is impervious to our common means of understanding. Any argument against it is thus inapplicable. Such is another expression of self-righteousness and elitism, of an in-group of esotericists who claim to have undergone the awakening which grants access to a domain of reality superior to that of its out-group.

But there is nothing genuinely profound in the hype surrounding psychedelics. Just look beyond the mumbo jumbo and you will quickly find the familiar trappings of marketing. When the promise is one of spiritual enlightenment, it is couched in terms of a life hack: what some Indian guru attains through four decades of continuous practice in the mountains, you, the smartass of the modern metropolis, shall get with this one miraculous solution. When the discussion is about dealing with depression, there is the equivalent claim of consuming some product a couple of times and effectively resetting oneself to whatever baseline of health was the status quo ex ante, as if there is no environmental factor at play and no side effects whatsoever. In short, the methods are commensurate with the average get rich quick scheme, the promise to lose all fat in a month, and the wonderful appeal of that gym instrument which allows you to develop a chiselled six-pack while remaining a couch potato.

The excursions to the Amazon rainforest are, in this regard, but another form of theme park tourism for those with enough disposable income. The average consumer is not keen on living the life of a tribesperson in South America. No! They are content with a simulacrum and wish to have it both ways: to acquire the wisdom of the shaman and continue with the urban lifestyle. They will thus go back to the capitalist system they are familiar with, which has now found a new lucrative industry to exploit. The poorer people who also want to jump on the bandwagon will settle for the next best thing they can get their hands on, hence the market emerges, which is a gateway to calamity. Everyone is free to live their life, of course. Though others will have to deal with the consequences of, say, a now-“awakened” fellow shouting all night in response to what they heard and saw.

In Greek we have a word for someone who shies away from long-term commitment to the rigours of whatever task: φυγόπονος (fygoponos), which is a compound of the words for flight (as in “to flee” or to be a fugitive) and pain. All the marketing gimmicks effectively seek to exploit a person’s propensity for fygoponia (or fygopony, if you prefer that rendition): they give you all the gains with none of the pain. How nice of them!

Rafael’s publication is an invitation to appreciate “boredom”, which I would describe differently as “the absence of excesses.” Rather than continuously distract ourselves, we accept the world as-is through moderation. We have to let go of the belief that we can experience increasingly thrilling moments. Excitement is short-lived, no matter the specifics. This is how it is in romantic affairs, for example, where the initial lustful phase gives way to everyday conviviality, else results in heartbreak. Or in sport, where the rush of adrenaline has to be followed by a period of downtime, otherwise it leads to injury. If we expect intensity to be the new normal we operate at, then we are setting ourselves up for disappointment or worse.

It is why I often write about “the little things” in life. Not because they are actually insignificant, but due to how they are easy to miss owning to their banality. How calm are those trees! They are always there, no matter the weather conditions. Everybody has seen such a scene hundreds of times. Yet we can only appreciate it when our expectations are aligned with the natural rhythms; when we internalise the idea that the world is in flux and manifests through the admixture of analytical extremes that balance each other out in the spectra they form, impressing in the mind what appears as common. It is futile to seek ever-enthralling experiences in achievements and possessions. We can never cling on to the experiential peak they produce. The excitement comes and goes, subject to diminishing returns. What remains is the basis of what we perceive. It then is a matter of accepting who we are as a form in the cosmic continuum of life, as yet another being that cannot escape from—or exert control over—the magnitudes which condition it.

Psychedelics are neither good nor bad, both good and bad. It is a matter of degree in how we use them. And in a world whose midpoint is unbridled consumption, we shall abuse them like there is no tomorrow.

I thought it would be funny to tell you this. My girlfriend is visiting Greece soon and I was telling her about you and how much awesome stuff you make for emacs. I was playing pokemon while talking about this and then I encountered my first ever shiny pokemon. I’ve been playing pokemon on and off for about 15 years and this is the first time. I caught the pokemon and named it Prot since I was talking about you.

Hahaha, that is amazing!

Anyways, I hope you don’t find that weird. Wish you the best.

No, I do not find it weird. On the contrary, this is something special which you care about. I am honoured. Thank you!

Also, I think this is a cute story that I should publish on my website. I will copy the exchange (your message and my reply), but will leave out your personal information. Are you okay with this?

The shiny Pokemon was Aron, by the way. It’s one of my favorites.

Looks great! I admit that I have not kept up with the newer generations. I like the ones in Super Smash Bros, especially Greninja and Mewtwo.

This morning I went on a four-hour walk deep into the mountain. My goal was two-fold: (i) do my regular physical exercise and (ii) search for naturally occurring herbs that I am still missing from my house. Whenever I find a plant I can maintain, I check whether there is a surplus of it and, if so, carefully extract the specimen for transplantation around the hut. Thus far I have successfully cultivated oregano, thyme, rosemary, lavender, and caper, while I have preserved cistus and stachys that were already growing here.

At about half way through my walk, I noticed some small white flowers struggling to get sunlight amid the overgrowth of competing vegetation. At first I thought those were the flowers of a rosa canina, though I quickly corrected myself by bringing to memory the fact that those plants bloomed almost a month ago. As soon as I inspected the flower, it became clear that I had discovered some jasmine, jasminum sambac in particular. It has a characteristic sweet aroma that I find especially welcoming for a homestead. My immediate task is to prepare a spot for it and bring it to my land.

Our senses provide points of entry to highly detailed memories. As soon as I touched the jasmine, I travelled back to the time when I was a pre-school kid, growing up in the Greek countryside. A jasmine shrub existed right outside my grandparents’ house. It must have been over two meters tall. I had my toys there and would play around it for hours on end. I was an inquisitive and highly active child. Most of my play time happened outside. This was not the plan though. My grandmother, who was the extended family’s matriarch, tried to keep me indoors and teach me how to be a good boy. But she failed to contain my exuberance. I would rebel in my own childish way by upsetting whatever order she would set up, until I earned my spot around the jasmine shrub.

My grandmother used to maintain the place in a pristine condition. The living room had a couple of nice chairs that were intended for guests, which typically were the ladies of the neighbourhood. They would all have coffee together, play cards, gossip, and “read the fortune” of everybody they knew of. This was their way of socialising and of developing their shared intelligence; “intelligence” in the sense of smartness but also of vital information that contributes to situational awareness. I used to have a negative view of gossip and the sort of superstitions my grandmother would entertain. But I realise now the important social function they perform in developing trust among the people whose duty it is to manage social reproduction. It does not matter whether the cards can predict the future or not. The point is that these women would gather to deepen and broaden their knowledge of all the people they had under their care, as well as all those around them. When you maintain a household, you need to know what is happening within it but also in its surrounding community. Anything less is irresponsibility writ large.

Child me did not understand any of this. All I wanted was to play until exhaustion. Those fancy chairs were in my eyes but raw materials for my makeshift tent. I would flip them upside down and use their covers to form a roof. My imagination would fill in the blanks. Grandma was not happy, but she did not punish me. Not once. I guess there was a certain charm to my mischief. At other times, the chairs and their accompanying coffee table were simply obstacles in the way of my ambitious game. I would place them at the sides of the room to make a clearing in the middle. Then I would take a bucket filled with soap water and throw it on the floor to make it all slippery. Then I would happily slide around, pretending to be a penguin. It was incredibly fun, though I did hurt myself a couple of times by crashing against the walls.

Grandmother did not receive formal education. She did have common sense though and a practical way of dealing with life. She successfully raise several children and grandkids, after all. As a response to the chaos I would leave in my wake, she said that I should be allowed to play outside. “He will behave himself once he gets tired”, was her point. This is what I know as a truth about dogs. Give them an outlet for their energy and you can handle them nicely. But keep them confined to a room and you will soon deal with whatever mess their uneasiness creates. And so I earned the right to have fun outside the house where the jasmine was. I stopped being mischievous as I had no need for it. Nature provided an outlet for my seemingly boundless energy. I would play around with all kinds of vegetation as well as animals. Those were happy times because I was allowed to be myself.

The only period in my life that I was genuinely miserable was when I tried to become another person. I thought it appropriate to be more like my peers and carry out my prestigious office job in as unassuming a fashion as I could. I did manage to give off that impression for a little while, at the expense of suppressing the energetic boy—the dog, if you will—that never left my being. Until I realised how unsustainable my endeavours were and corrected my course before it was too late. This is how, in short, I ended up in these mountains. Expending a large part of my physical energy empowers me to remain focused on my intellectual pursuits. It is the best form of meditation I could ever do. Thanks to it, I keep writing at length on a daily basis, publish almost as frequently, and enthusiastically perform the work I am committed to.

Grandma understood an important truth: you go with the flow of nature, not against it. If you try to force a child into a mould, all you will get is bad results. Sometimes those will manifest quickly, in the form of some maladjustment in behaviour, or they will come to the fore later in life once the now grown up faces difficulties and has to discover who they are. Let the kid express itself and use your knowledge as an adult to guarantee a safe environment in which the child’s personality grows into a stable force for good.

Social reproduction is a skill that the modern family is losing or not practising well. Unlike little Prot who would explore the in vivo world around him, little Billy is trapped between apartment and school walls. Whenever Billy feels the need to make sense of the world around him, his parents handle him some tablet to keep him distracted and quiet. Billy will eventually get a personal computer, while continuing to live in confinement. At around the age when he understands what his dick is for, he will discover all the nasty stuff available online. Billy will thus develop the familiar computer related addictions. Not because of some frailty of character. No! He simply is the victim of a society that has misplaced its values; a victim whom we ought to treat with compassion.

Parents have to work all day to make ends meet. The apartment life does not allow them to grow any vegetables or raise animals. All their vitality goes to wage labour. This means they cannot provide high quality parenting. The grandparents are somewhere far away, in large part due to the dogma of individualism that incentivises young adults to live away from their relatives and to ultimately loosen their ties with them. Instead of a robust community built on mutual trust, children are raised in the hostile environment of the megalopolis. Neighbours are not invited to read the fortune with the house’s matriarch. They are anonymous shadows of people. One day they are there, the next they are gone. Such is the precarious condition of living on rent.

Women entered the workforce en masse out of a belief in their liberation. While they did make some inroads on that front, they largely got capitalism’s middle finger, forced into the unnatural and unhealthy environment of urban centres, and made to pursue mostly unfulfilling careers, typically involving plenty of bureaucracy. Men were shafted as well. They lost the familial ties and organic communities which helped them the most in their moments of weakness. Instead of relying on the men around them for accountability and on tutelary figures such as the matriarch of the family for emotional support, men were left to deal with loneliness and to seek their pack in imaginary groupings, such as football ultras, as well as social media bullshit like the “alpha male” fantasy. Like little Billy who is addicted to pornography and gaming, men and women are the victims of a world that cannot appreciate the little things of this planet simply because they are too far away from them.

When I recognised the jasmine earlier today, I also gained a renewed appreciation of the rural lifestyle that city folk dismiss as “backward” or, in yester years, as “pagan” (paganus is the Latin word for “villager”). I am physically active most of the day and remain laser focused on the things I care about. The pace of my experience is consistent with my actuality. It thus is benign for my being. The colours around me are harmonious, as are the odours and the sounds. They inspire me to learn more. They are not a source of stress the way the incessant hustle and bustle of a town is. The natural setting all around me keeps me calm, while providing an outlet for my sense of adventure. The forms of life in my milieu remind me that I am not the epicentre of the world. There is nothing special about me. I am just another animal who does not need to be the “real deal” in any way whatsoever.

I shall transplant the jasmine here. May it be part of another’s future memories.

What is the difference between my land and the mountain at-large? What distinguishes the garden in my vicinity from a forest? Force; the purposeful, controlled use of violence in pursuit of establishing a safe haven for me, my pets, and anybody else I may take care of. The making of my hut is, in essence, the exercise of aggression on my part against other forms of life. Such is the underlying mechanism: I am simply stronger than their combined strength. It even extends to the very landscape, as I have reshaped large parts of what I have touched. I have successfully redirected the stream to not erode my land anymore and managed to transplant canes that further reinforce the soil along that side. I have flattened certain parts and elevated others. All because, at root, I can.

In the process of making a settlement, I have driven away rodents and insects, cut down plants that I cannot keep in my midst, and have favoured the propagation of species that I consider benign to my stay here. Plenty of plants are now thriving under my aegis. I have rescued many almond trees, hawthorns, and blackthorns. They are now growing to their full potential. Several types of herb are also benefiting from the favourable conditions I provide. Grapevines are growing again after decades of suppression and fierce competition. They will yield grapes this year, if all goes well with the weather. Birds of all kinds, from the smallest ones to crows and eagles are finding food all around my hut. I enjoy their presence and am inspired by their exuberance. The force I apply is both destructive and constructive.

There is a clear set of preferences on display. I make the choice over what stays and what is driven away. Such is the inevitable reality of action: to face trade-offs and to pick something over something else. Would it not be nice for everything to subsist equally and for nothing to be left behind? Sounds pleasant, yes. Though this is not how life works. The safety of a human settlement necessarily involves the cleansing of the immediate area from obvious threats and other obstacles. If anybody believes otherwise, then they are prepared to live alongside venomous spiders, potentially lethal snakes, poisonous plants, and the like. I wonder how that will turn out. To me, this is not sustainable. If I truly believed in the notion of equal prosperity for all life forms in my midst I would already be dead because I would not even begin to clear the land, for that would have been an expression of preference of the sort here considered.

There is order to my place. The garden I am creating is increasingly looking more like the culmination of months of continuous labour. Looking at a modest hut, it is easy to believe that it is all peaceful and easy in the mountains. The natural and frugal life has a romantic appeal to it. What romantics are not prepared to contend with is the raw power dynamics at play. If the snakes, for example, could fend me off, I would not be here. This peace, then, is the flip-side of a certain dominion, which itself is the product of my struggles. When I cut down wild vegetation and then dig up the land with the pickaxe, for example, I am making a great effort against a state of affairs that is not favourable to my presence.

This order, which is a precondition for my safety (and by extension of anybody I may take care of), cannot be taken for granted. There is nothing in the nature of things that guarantees it. It only exists as the consequence of my decisiveness in exercising force, else controlled aggression or purposeful violence. It hinges on my continued availability and physical fitness. If I were to be ruled out with injury or disease, the order would eventually unravel, as other forces would gradually yet surely fill in the vacuum. It is me, or rather me qua agent of force, that holds this order together.

“Force”, “aggression”, “violence”… These are terms that sound unnerving and perhaps anti-social. Humans have lived in cities long enough to forget that organised society does not just happen. We take it for granted and then demonise those words by calling them names and assigning to them a negative normative quality. I think such is a misunderstanding of history but also of the simple dynamics of living. The very act of eating, for instance, happens at the expense of another form of life. This is true for omnivorous people as well as vegans. Or do you think that the soy farm you rely on is not a cultivation that is carried out against some wild state of affairs and that the soy plants themselves are not forms of life? Every social order is, in effect, dependent on force to institute, enact, and safeguard its values as well as all the particular prescriptions it maintains. This includes all modern polities that are governed by the rule of law. Indeed, government without the supreme authority to exercise legitimate force when all means of persuasion fail, i.e. sovereignty, is no government at all.

What distinguishes between appropriate use of force and wanton destruction is the thought that goes into it. An individual who resorts to violence in response to stress or frustration is governed by their emotions, is not in control of their actions, and is thus likely to misuse their strength. There is no grand plan at play, no commitment to a cause. By contrast, the person who accounts for the prevailing conditions resorts to violence when it is necessary and operates thus with an understanding of the bigger picture.

In artistic terms, this is the difference between Ares, the god of war, and Athena, the goddess of wisdom. Both are depicted as warriors, yet their dispositions differ substantially. Ares expresses the sheer strength of a man in his prime, yet also shows what many adult males lack: emotional stability. The combination of power and lack of control over one’s emotions is what breeds perpetual war, figuratively and literally. It may seem surprising that Athena, as goddess of wisdom is a warrior then. What would wisdom have to do with warfare? She is presented as the kind of heavy infantry that would fight from the front lines in a phalanx of shields. Athena has in her very imagery the ability for hand to hand combat. She too is capable of violence, no doubt. Yet her disposition is that of emotional stability. It is what allows her to control her force and to thus use it only when she must.

But why should wisdom be expressed through art as a warrior goddess? Why is it not some peaceful figure like an erudite scholar or a meditative monk? Because the Greeks understood that life at-large is an incessant struggle. There is no pure evil in the world just as there is no pure good. It is all admixture or, else, a state of affairs that involves trade-offs and exhibits preference. Wisdom, then, is not about dogmatically remaining equidistant from all possible outcomes, for that is not how life unfolds. It rather consists in the readiness to do what is necessary and to pursue the appropriate course of action under the prevailing conditions.

To say that you will never come to conflict with anything is to consign yourself to extinction. One must thus understand the nuances between Ares and Athena to recognise that the admission of what is happening, such as me enforcing order in and around my hut, is not a glorification of violence. No! It is but a recognition of the inescapable realities of living and of the underlying mechanics of action.

Someone who responds violently to pressure still needs to grow. Theirs likely is a response with anti-social qualities. They must work on their mental side, to become more composed, disciplined, equanimous, but also to show greater understanding of the feelings and needs of others. Otherwise, power, which is always there, is misused and abused. It is not force as such that is the problem, whenever it is, but the way it is employed.

I was wielding the sledgehammer earlier to break some large piece of concrete that had become an obstacle. Every hit against the hard surface, every sense of discomfort throughout my arms and upper body, was a reminder of who I am and what I am doing for my secure subsistence here. Nature has endowed me with this power, while it has made me ever-available and eager to act. It then is a matter of my reasonableness and composure to assume responsibility in being more like Athena.

This morning I took a picture of a rose. It is a close-up of the flower’s pink petals with a honeybee close by: a beautiful representation of a daily phenomenon. When I got back home, I switched on my computer with the intent of transferring the file over. Before uploading the photo, I scrolled through the rest of my collection in search for other candidates. There were more gems. Not just flowers, but also mountainscapes and skyscapes, as well as plenty of scenes involving my dogs. As I was browsing through the archive, I noticed that there were no human-centric pictures whatsoever. Not one! Not even a selfie! It is as if this phone belonged to a non-human being who had no interactions with humanity. Yet I knew this was my phone and that I have had plenty of encounters with people. This realisation got me thinking about my behavioural patterns, but also of possessions in general.

I only ever had one physical photo album. I was twelve years old when I purchased it. It was during a trip with some other kids of my age. I needed something to store the pictures that captured some of our shared memories. The album remained in my possession for a few years and I always took good care of it.

At the age of eighteen, I left my hometown in pursuit of university education. The plan was to revisit my country at regular intervals. That never happened for a variety of reasons, including the post-2008 global financial crisis. What was supposed to be a “see you soon” became an indefinite “farewell.” Now, almost twenty years later, I still have not returned, having spent in the meantime more years abroad than in my home country. Given that I built my hut so far away, chances are I will never go back. Where would I even go to, anyway? Is anybody still there?

What distinguishes a place as “home” is the interplay between the people and the setting. If either is missing, then “home” is no longer what was originally impressed in the mind as such. I had many friends from school, the neighbourhood, football, and motorcycles. They must each have gone their separate ways. What I knew no longer is. But even if the rest of “home” was frozen in time while waiting for me, I am not the same anymore. The constitution of the case differs. While I can return to the location referred to as “home”, I cannot remake the person I was. Back then I had no intellectual preoccupations, for example. Now these are a noticeable part of my life.

Some people are the finished article early on. Others are late bloomers. And others still who do not live up to the promise of their talents. Sometimes I read biographic notes about those intellectuals who seem to have always known what they were meant to be. The retelling of their story goes along the lines of “when I was 5, I was well versed in Latin and Ancient Greek; at 10 I was interpreting Platon, and at 18 I started writing my own theories.” Those were child prodigies who realised their potential as geniuses of the highest order. I was not special and continue to be that way. At those ages I was not doing anything noteworthy: I was a kid, then a teenager, then an adult, always doing something ordinary. “I was having fun” would be my kind of biographic note. Life somehow introduced me to this field of intellectuality that I had no affinity with. Just how I have been a metic and a stranger for most of my life, I also do not really belong in this milieu, nor do I seek to become part of any one group in particular. Is this not the same underlying pattern of me not trying to be in pictures? It is as if I do not want to be the protagonist, not even in the inconsequential microcosm of my camera roll. Or, perhaps, I have a strong resistance to the idea that I shall heretofore identify with a snapshot of myself.

My home of old has faded away. There is no chance any of the lads of yore would believe me if I told them what I was doing nowadays. The fact that I am even writing this would make them laugh. Teenage me would have done the same, while making some snarky remark about those hopeless nerds. If my old friends are anything like I remember them to be, they would promptly dismiss this article as an elaborate version of one of my many jokes. I would always make fun of everything. Nothing had gravity nor sanctity. Who would my friends be expecting and who would they be meeting? Those two persons would definitely not be the same. My home is different because I have changed. I now belong to these mountains. This is where life brought me to. I do what I must and hope for the best.

That photo album is long gone. I discarded it about a decade ago. At the time, I was hard pressed to relocate to a new apartment while adapting to the largely uneventful routine of the countryside. As I was sorting through my possessions, I found it in a suitcase and flipped through its pages for the last time. While I still remembered those depicted therein, I could not feel anything about my past. Twelve-year-old me is immaterial as are the others. More importantly though, I could not relate to what had happened then. I was occupying a different headspace, while the pictures could not re-enact what had transpired. It was all a product of its time and place. Rather than rekindle my recollection of the good days—and they were nice—those photos offered a reminder that each moment is indeed momentary. I threw away the album without regrets. It was simply me admitting my powerlessness in the face of something which was never in my possession: moments; moments that I conventionally refer to as “my moments.” Also, I was rebelling to the idea that there is an identity to be established between present “me” and the version of “me” from that era. I would not want to be discovered through my past, for I am not that anymore. And yet there is a sense in which I cannot escape it, as it informs what I have become. Pictures, then, may pose a challenge of fairness. I ask not to be reduced to a snapshot of selfhood and to instead be recognised as a work-in-progress: to be discovered in a stepwise fashion.

Is there something else going on? If photographs do not help me relive the past, then why do I keep pictures of non-human themes? Why are there flowers but not selfies in my collection? There may be something to do with associations not pertinent to matters of selfhood. When I see the face of someone, I do not think of what it symbolises, but only of the specific person or, maybe of that person at the given place and/or point in time. Whereas, say, the rose has the quality of being symbolic. It is, at once, the particular flower and the expression of a pattern in the cosmos. Same with mountainscapes. Whenever I hike, I get to experience a very specific interplay of factors that is unique, though I also relate to what I have always felt when exposed to open vistas and the great outdoors. Anthropocentric pictures do not engender the same emotions. They are lifeless.

About the absence of selfies, I entertained the notion there may be something more than me not being able to generalise them into archetypes. What if I am not content with how I look? “No matter what I do, I will not be pretty, so why bother?” That would be a plausible explanation. Even if true, it cannot be a factor in my considerations as I have no problem recording my face for all the videos I do. There are hours of me on screen. If I truly did not like my appearance, I would not want to have it saved in hundreds of hours of footage.

I have not returned home because I recognise no correspondence between the present and the past. It may be the same for the pictures I choose not to take or be a part of, as I know I will resist identifying with them. They are a product of their specifics. I let them be and do not revisit them. This is how I treat all my publications as well and why I do them alla prima: they are bound to their moment. I leave them to their own fate while I do the same for myself, following my path wherever it leads me.

These days I often find my life to be purposeless. For instance the research that I do might have some societal impact but it’s not a lot compared to let’s say a doctor who actually helps people. Maybe I’ve just become dissatisfied with academia (even before I’ve really begun the journey).

Most research does not have a direct effect on people’s lives. It is too specialised and far withdrawn from its potential applications. There will be some experts who gain from it and who contribute back to the larger corpus of work and then there will be some entrepreneurs who will make some product out of all this. But, generally, research is not part of popular culture. Some folks will eventually notice, though most will not realise research is even there, let alone what it actually entails. If we are to offer an award for “most noticeable effect” we may pick the likes of bartenders, cooks, and waiters who help people everyday by giving them an immediate boost in their life while empowering them to socialise and/or relax. Or we will opt for the artists who make our lives a bit prettier. I am not trying to make a factual point here about who is the most impactful (and what would that even mean?), but to put things in perspective: the role of science is to do the hard, typically thankless, work that is barely understood in its details but which ultimately benefits humanity. Scientists are among the unsung heroes in society. Yes, everybody talks about science this and science that, but few actually care about the technicalities.

Taking it a step further, most contributions go unnoticed no matter their field of application. Do you know who built the house you live in? Who did the wiring and the plumbing? Who paved the roads? Who maintains the parks? What goes into the preparatory work so that the public house you have your meal/drink at is in an appropriate state? Who are the people behind those whom you may identify that do the domestic work? Can you name all the people whose cumulative labour resulted in the computer you are using and in the software you are running? And so on. Once we start thinking in those terms, we realise that whatever we think our achievements are, they are made possible by all those unsung heroes. If we recognise that we are small in this regard, we will blithely do our part like a honeybee tending to the wellness of the hive. Society at-large is an organism and we are but its constituents.

It is edifying when others notice your work, I know. You feel that there is hope and that what you are doing has value to the world. You may even get the impression that value is there only when others give you that unmistakable appreciative look or word of encouragement. Though keep in mind why you are even there doing what you set out to do. There has to be something coming from within; some calling that draws you to the things you care about. People cannot always show appreciation for your labour. It may be because they are unaware of it. Or they do not have the expertise to assess the finer points of your contributions. Or they are busy with their own affairs. And so on. Put differently, the absence of praise does not necessarily mean that your work is pointless. Does it matter at least to you? If yes, then keep going.

There may be an unspoken desire in the largely solitary adventures of a researcher, intellectual, or knowledge worker in genera: to find others who share the same passion for the subject matter; the curious ones, the most inquisitive, those who are not content with the assertion of certainty that begets complacency and who, instead, set out to explore what is out there. They are adventurers in a sense. Even if they never leave their land, they let their heart do the travelling. Why are they even doing it? What are they seeking? They do not know and is why they keep exploring. To find that elusive “what” and its underlying “why.” Those are the individuals who will likely have the quality of paying attention to the subtleties of the work each intellectual does and, perhaps, to the nuances of this intellectual’s character. Such is the wish, the longing for togetherness among minds that partake of the shared cosmic mind. It is nice to have such a hope. Though the quest to discover one’s peers may just as well be a way for each of us to leverage our gregarious nature in the service of our loner’s journey, set up an ideal of the perfect yet ever elusive partner in the given activity, and ultimately dedicate ourselves wholly to the task. Not because we have any guarantees of finding others. No! We may simply be inventing more reasons to keep doing what we want. Why? Because there is a wolf inside each of us that cannot be tamed. Its claws touch our heart. When the wolf is kept in a closed space for too long, it grows restless and becomes destructive. This we feel as uneasiness, lack of fulfillment, and depression, until we ultimately wither away. The wolf has to explore the open vistas and be on the prowl. Such is its nature. It is quiet and at peace once it gets what it needs.

We thus return to the inner source, to the very reason you are doing what you like. If that is missing, then the nice words of the rest of the world are irrelevant.

I see this with my publications, for example. I seldom get a substantive comment. Yet I keep doing what I do: it is fun! People may still appreciate my contributions but there are many reasons why they will not share their impressions. This fact does not bother me, nor is a factor in my future endeavours. It cannot be so because, fundamentally, everything I do is in the service of an inner need, even when the results of my labour can be useful to others (e.g. free software). If I do not feel passionately about my own projects, I will not bother. There is no urgency, no compelling reason to act. No amount of potential praise is enough to draw me in. Those are empty words, an ephemeral boost of confidence at best, which quickly fades away until it becomes insecurity that manifests as the need for validation. There has to be a power impulse independent of others. Otherwise, the inspiration, that spark which ignites the engine, is simply not there. This is also why I do not have a target audience per se and do not do videos that exploit the algorithms. What is the point of becoming the avatar of another’s whims? Why build your happiness on top of the shifting sands that are other peoples’ opinions? I tend to my wellness by allowing the wolf within to roam around the wilderness in pursuit of adventure. Whatever discoveries I make may help you or others, but I would not even be here were it not for those claws around my heart: I need to express myself, I have to let the wolf expend its energy else it will turn against me.

I was wondering - where do you find inspiration? When I read your posts or watch your videos, I feel like you have a clear vision about what do you want in life, as well as a very strong willpower. Where do all of that come from? What guides your actions? I feel like I know where my life is heading to, and I think I am in a good direction overall, but anyhow sometimes I don’t feel that inspiration, that willpower, to do the right thing this day that will lead me closer to my life goals. I keep thinking about previous failures, or getting distracted by trivialities that I know don’t contribute anything to me. I am able to hide such things merely because my responsabilities are still small compared to my abilities, and so my carelessness does not hurt me too much. But I’m afraid the moment where that doesn’t hold true anymore (which will probably happen soon), I’ll just collapse under the heavy weight of reality.

I do not know if I have strong willpower or if that is my primary driver. Yes, I am committed to the things I care about and do what I must with them consistently and decisively. Though I never had the capacity to bend the world to my will and “achieve greatness.” The macro view of my life is one of spontaneity and of going with the flow. Things have been happening and I have simply been adapting to them. At each phase, I would have an idea of what I wanted to do, but I could not force it to happen.

When I was a teenager, I was single minded about becoming a footballer. I was good at it and had the work ethic plus discipline to continue. I did not care about school and was a bad student (was also unruly, talked back to my teachers, skipped classes, …). But I could not achieve what I wanted because of forces outside my control. I got injured, the support network to swiftly deal with that was not there, and I had to change paths.

Then I ended up in college and started caring about intellectual matters, so I became a good student. University life was a challenge for me initially because I had to adapt to the practice of studying. I was not used to that but I got the hang of it. Also, I had to work in parallel to cover for all my expenses, so I never had the typical “student life.” It was home, work, school, work, home. Thinking back, perhaps it is this very challenge that motivated me to keep going, just so I could prove to myself I was capable of it.

My ambition at the time was to continue with my studies and to accumulate all the formal qualifications I needed to become an academic. But, again, I had not foreseen the eventualities: I got a job in politics thanks to my blog/website which made me known to the politician I ended up working with. I was a policy analyst for a few years. Then I realised I did not really have a passion for formal studies. In fact, I rediscovered my former athletic self’s need for action and physical intensity in response to what started to feel like a dead end in my life: politics and office life at-large is not for me.

So I ended up far away, literally and figuratively, from everything I was working towards up until that point. I did manual labour, discovered Linux in my free time, played around with the computer, found Emacs, learnt to program, and also built my hut. None of this was in my mind some years prior. I had no grand plan to be here. The analogy, thus, is that I jumped off a cliff with the hope that I would grow wings on the way down.

Maybe there is willpower there, which is what keeps me going. Sure. Or maybe it is something to do with my attitude. What I notice in retrospect is an unmistakable indifference: the sense that I do not identify with any of my goals or achievements. So what if I once was a footballer and unruly teenager? Now I am a good boy doing my studies. So what if my job before politics was bartending? Now I do the technical work of amending legislation and live among those powerful people. So what if I worked at the European Parliament? Now I do construction or work in the fields…

Indifference, then, manifests as defiance or shamelessness: I do not feel I need to behave or look a certain way in response to some standard of excellence, simply because I do not care what others think about it. Concretely, in this moment I do not feel ashamed to say that I am a philosopher despite the fact that I have no formal qualifications for it (I would argue those are overrated, anyway, but that may be just a rationalisation of mine). It may then be this indifference that keeps me going, as I have no inhibition to rise to the level of whatever challenge I am faced with.

With these in mind, I can answer the question of “what guides your actions?” with “fun”. Yes, fun! It has to be that, rather than some master plan of careful consideration. I enjoy a challenge when it is somehow close to heart. I did it when I would fight for every ball on the football pitch (my nickname was “dog”, which you know what it means if you have tried to dribble past a dog). I did it when I had to work and study. I do it now in establishing myself in my land. There is a rational component to it, of me working towards a greater goal, such as stability and safety, though I have to acknowledge the visceral aspect, indeed the thrill, of doing something difficult.

About collapsing under the weight of a challenge, there is always a chance this happens. Though consider that you have not put yourself to the test and you might actually be able to cope with the challenge once you commit to it. It is a matter of trying in earnest. Think of some great athlete for inspiration. I remember when Lionel Messi, arguably the greatest footballer of all time, missed the penalty in the 2016 Copa America final against Chile. We can imagine how even this unique genius of a player was experiencing doubt about his abilities and how he was unsure whether he had it in him to deal with the challenge. He failed then but came back stronger to show us what he could achieve.

My attitude in this regard is the following: I might lose, yes, but every fibre of my being will make sure this is a fight you will never forget. It then is a matter of embracing our animalistic side, this part of us that involves passion and emotion, instead of pretending we are mere rational agents of action. Rationalism is a figment of imagination that is taken for granted in certain fields of endeavour. Life teaches us there is more to it though and that the multifacetedness of our being cannot be reduced to a simple calculus of rationally operating at the margin of optimality. Not only are we not driven by pure reason, we also lack the requisite information or knowledge to always make an accurate assessment of the case and of its potential outcomes.

What, then, is the “clear vision” you ask about? It is the eagerness to adapt, which is the other way of saying that you recognise how little you really know about what is happening and shall transpire. Life teaches as much. You have goals and express desires, yes, but you ultimately work with what you have and accept it for what it is. This is because there is a whole world out there outside your volition. It does not revolve around you and will not accommodate your wants. If you get what you want, then you are happy, but if you do not get it, then you must also be content for learning something about you and/or the world. It may be time for you to make changes, which is ultimately what this world is all about. To what end? I do not know.

I am now meeting my goals. Is it because I have the willpower and do whatever I want? Or because I ultimately lowered my target to something achievable?

We do not choose to live, nor what life is exactly like, so why should we be choosing every instance thereof? All we do is experience phenomena as they unfold. It is a struggle, it is a pleasure, and all the rest. It might also be fun, if we see it all as a game; as a cosmic dance that simply happens.

What has been a nuisance to me lately, is the topic of free time and the feeling of indifference in the activities to fill it. I would love to hear your perspective on the matter.

This struggle generally happens after I stop work on my day job, and the time is up to me to fill. I of course want to take advantage of this time, but find this desire to actually make the time full of frustration. From my perspective there are, at least, the following reasons for this feeling:

• Too many options of things to do
• Not knowing what activity I am more interested in
• The aforementioned pressure to ‘take advantage’ of this time

I suspect this is a widespread feeling with the paradox of choice and concomitant fear of missing out. What I do is to effectively make my plans more deterministic, as they are contingent on past decisions, while retaining the discretionary power to do what I feel like in the moment.

The way I approach life is a combination of a longer-term outline and short-term bursts of spontaneity within the overarching constraint of maintainability. I have a general idea of what I want to do for the future, such as to continue to develop my Emacs packages and work on/around the hut, but I do not write down a prescriptive regimen for each day. In practice, this happens at the level of my agenda, which only includes genuinely time-sensitive tasks like “meet with PERSON at 15:00”. Anything that is not time-sensitive is a “wishlist” item, meaning that I will check it out only when I feel like it.

By introducing this criterion of intrinsic time-sensitivity, I am effectively achieving clarity in two ways: (i) I know for sure what I must do on the given day and (ii) I have insight into my free time. How to operate in my free time is more open-ended in principle, though fairly predictable in actuality, because of the maintainability inherent to the tasks I am committed to. In principle, I have the freedom to do whatever I want. Though because the tasks I have started require maintenance (Emacs packages, manual labour, …) I actually have fewer options to pick from. Take the release of Denote version 4, for example: there was no pressing reason for me to publish it last week. I could have postponed that to this week or some time within the next three months. I could, in principle, even say that I am not interested in publishing it at all. But this would have the longer-term effect of compounding the work I have to do if I intend to maintain the project, or it would lead to the discontinuation of the project (bugs would accumulate, users would eventually seek alternatives, et cetera).

Maintenance, then, is the key. If the tasks you do have an inherent requirement of keeping up with them and you genuinely care about them, then you will keep working on them. This covers the manual labour I do as well. If, say, I do not clear the wild vegetation from around my place, I might be dealing with venomous snakes as well as an increasingly likely fire hazard during the summer. So I have to put in the effort, even though I do not have a strict timeline for doing so. Same for handling my dogs. I spend a lot of time with them each day, which is good for our relationship. I also go with them on long walks. This is “maintenance work” too because we continue to do something that is mutually beneficial for our friendship and our health.

The first identified reason leads to the following train of thought: “Maybe I should read. But what book? Or maybe I should play a game…but what game? Perhaps I should journal. There is also that movie everyone at work is talking about. However, it is a beautiful day to go play disc golf.” You get the point. Each one of these I respond to with “I guess I could do that”. None really excite me. None seem to spark any more interest than the other, which is reason number 2 in the above list. It is a feeling of indifference towards all of them.

Notice how all of these have no inherent maintainability component to them and the flip-side is that they require no commitment on your end. Watching a movie, for example, is a self-contained activity. Sure, it may be a series so you have to watch a few hours of video, but the idea is the same. The movie does not require you to keep revisiting it long-term. Video games are slightly different because they can trigger this feeling of accomplishment, like when you level up your character in a role-playing game, but have the same disadvantage as movies of containing the results to the virtual realm where they do not have a life of their own. Because they do not have a life of their own, there is no real urgency associated with them, no external accountability structure that compels you into action and keeps you honest, no emotion on your side that you have to tend to them. So what might appear as maintainability at the outset is, in fact, an illusion.

What you want is to discover matters that have a life of their own and eventually opt for them. It is like gardening. If you do not clear the weeds and water your plants, the garden dies. So if you care about it, you will keep doing it again and again. Each action will contribute to the feeling of contentment, even if it is not one of amazement. Rather than an ephemeral rush of excitement, you get in a stable state of pleasure, of being in good terms with yourself and of appreciating the command you have over your life, as you become attuned to the “little things” rather than the firework-like moments that are flashy but ultimately fleeting.

This is not to say that ephemeral experiences are inherently wrong. No! You can have those as well, though couch them in terms of a generally stable—indeed pleasurable—life.

When I do finally to commit to something, I can’t help but think of all the other things I could be doing. Thinking that a different activity would make me feel like I am ‘taking advantage’ of my free time. This of course is a frustrating cycle.

Yes, this is frustrating. I personally do not think in terms of “taking advantage” in a vacuum, but only relative to how I am maintaining the activity. I keep doing it with consistency, even just a little bit at a time, and so I preserve my momentum and feel nice about the discipline I show towards it. To use the example of sport, inconsistency is what kills enthusiasm for it. If you do not do it with regularity, it eventually feels painful and you quit.

The approach of “taking advantage” does entail a major risk: of seeking self-contained experiences so that you can exploit as many of them as possible in an attempt to maximise said advantage. In other words, it inspires you to not go in depth, to not commit to whatever requires maintenance, and to instead try to see everything there is to be seen. But because “everything” is infinite while you are finite, you set yourself up for failure, in the form of frustration.

Sticking to some things long-term is empowering for the very reason that it puts you in control of the situation: you are involved because your involvement is required for it to persist as an experience you may have. Instead of getting distracted by all the possible and theoretically rewarding experiences you could be partaking in, you remain focused on what works for you with regularity. Fundamentally, each new experience that is done without attention to its maintainability adds up to an unfulfilling lifestyle of not having something to hold onto and be held by, and thus comes at the cost of your wellness.

To try and counter this struggle, I have been trying to be mindful about lowering expectations. Even though the logical part of me understands that all my free time can’t be an amazing experience, I still seem to act as if this is possible. If I am able to lower my expectations about what experiences should feel like, I anticipate that the part of me that second guesses the activity I decide on would quiet down to some extent. But perhaps that in itself is something I should lower my expectations on.

I think this is the sort of trick that might work in some cases but is generally unreliable. You might, say, lower your expectations about how great that movie will be, but this does not change the fact that watching the movie does not have a longer-term aspect to it: it does not involve a commitment to its maintenance as it has no life of its own, as noted above. What I then think is that expectations must also be formulated in terms of the innate qualities of a given project or choice. Some are naturally short-lived while others have the tendency to stick around.

What matters, then, is to factor in your feelings when you pick something that will stay with you for some time. Do I love dogs, for example? Am I prepared to tend to the needs of the dog 7 days a week and 365 days a year? Will I go on a walk no matter the weather conditions or at least try the next best alternative? And will I be willing to sacrifice some comforts, such as going on a vacation, if it means taking care of my dog? If you can answer these questions with your heart as well, then you have found something you like and which will keep you true to your word. You have liberated yourself from the trap that is the fear of missing out only when you can reliably remain true to your word.

This theme of maintainability you cover here and in the succeeding paragraphs deeply resonates. Something I often think about that goes hand in hand with this theme is the practacility of an activity. I often feel as if the activities I engage in need to involve some practical aspect. But I then get caught up in thinking that any practicality I apply is fabricated. For example, reading has the practical aspect of teaching me something, a video game has the practical aspect of problem solving and interaction in a consequence free environment (relaxation and exploration).

The practicality I associate with these activities do not actually contribute to my survival, or longer term outlook. I suppose a difference would be if I have the goal to become a doctor (I do not) then reading medcial books would fall under the maintenance, or pursuit, of this vision. This would then result in reading being a more practical activity.

Practicality is important because it means you stick with an activity that is likely to reward your efforts in some way. Recreational activities, like watching movies or playing games, thus have the practicality of, well, “re-creation”: they let you disconnect from your duties and do something that makes you happy, relaxes you, etc.

However, the consideration of practicality comes with the risk of reducing every decision to a calculation of the expected costs and benefits and, further, of making every choice subordinate to some higher purpose goal. We may say, for example, that gaming is practical because it is recreational, which in turn is practical because it gives you a new impetus to go to work, which in turn is practical because it sustains you, and so on until we ultimately reach the goal you are working towards, which is to live and, perhaps, to live well.

Such analysis is fine in hindsight or to have as a rough idea of how to proceed, though it can lead to the sort of overthinking we have already been discussing: why is “to live” even a goal? Are we really choosing to live or are we living anyway until we reach a state, probably after many years, where we ponder such questions? Is, then, the goal “to live” but a rationalisation of what is already there? And what is “live well” supposed to be? To have a good end so that, for example, I tolerate abusive working conditions because the job pays handsomely and I will eventually enjoy my life afterwards with all that money? Or at the other end of the spectrum, to live well is to maximise my pleasure in the current moment as if there is no tomorrow? There are so many questions we can raise here and never reach a definitive answer. Are we even really operating in pursuit of a rational final goal?

All this comes down to the onesidedness of the goal-oriented approach. It is rational in that it sets a target on the basis of weighing expected pros and cons. But in our life we do not have all the answers. We constantly operate in an environment of imperfect knowledge and can only understand things better with the benefit of hindsight. Yet there is no “replay button” for us, which means that whatever we do, we do it with at least some degree of uncertainty and faith that things will go our way. I then feel that we cannot afford to be rationalists in the strict sense. It is pretentious to claim as much.

The cost-benefit calculus detracts from something basic. “Basic” as in simple or common but also as that which pertains to the basis of our life. This is the experience of excitement, passion, and adventure. Those are visceral, which the rationalist propensities of ours may dismiss as unreliable. Yet they trigger in us something that we cannot ignore with honesty; something that is empowering; something that we recognise when we feel it even if it eludes our efforts at defining it; something that complements or underpins our conscious decision-making as our animalistic alter ego.

Consider again the example of a video game. Why is there such a thing as a difficulty setting? Or why do people do speed runs? What is it that inspires us to seek these increasingly challenging paths in gaming? Now generalise this adventure seeking, this wolf within, to matters of sport, programming, science. Why does the sportsperson try to further improve their performance? Why is the programmer bent on writing more elegant code? Why is the scientist interested in the deeper understanding of the world? Why is the philosopher even writing this? We do not have a rational answer as to what we will do after we discover the limits, yet this does not prevent us from trying.

So, yes, practicality matters though there is also value in trusting our gut feeling or in following our heart. But not to the other extreme of foregoing reason. It is all about finding moderation in our ways.

Do you think providing value to others is an important aspect in your pursuits? I ask mainly with your Emacs projects in mind:

But this would have the longer-term effect of compounding the work I have to do if I intend to maintain the project, or it would lead to the discontinuation of the project (bugs would accumulate, users would eventually seek alternatives, et cetera).

I have written a lot of elisp code over the years, but mainly for my own use. Therefore the mentioned maintenance aspect is rather limited. Thus I wonder if ensuring other’s needs are met is a motivator to keep up with a project. Or perhaps it is pride in one’s work that is shared with the public?

Giving back to the community is an important consideration, though I cannot tell if it is the driving force. I suspect that underneath it is this visceral beast that seeks adventure, as I covered above. I have fun maintaining my programs, while I face the challenge to learn new things and to prove to myself that I can do it. Maintaining the code in public actually puts the whole activity in “hard mode”, because I cannot hide my flaws and must instead rise to the occasion. This is also why I do my publications in one go, as I have explained before (“alla prima”), but also why I publish so much of what I create: by not hiding my in-the-moment self, I essentially take away the option of failing badly and am thus increasing the challenge.

I can apply the same explanation for many of my life choices, but you get the idea.

I suspect that the answer here is up to the indivdual. For example, I do trail runs. However, if I do not have a race or event that I am signed up for then I know I will find ways to not train. Once I sign up for an event I now have motivation to train. If I do not, I will show up on race day with a risk of injury, or a having miserable time due to being unfit. Another example I can imagine is purchasing a fixer-upper house. Once you make that purchase you now have a financial liability so fixing up the house is a practical endeavor. Or as you put it: these activities have a ‘life of their own’. The race will not be put on hold because you are not prepared, and the fixer-upper will continue to deterioate if you do not put in the work.

Very well! You then seem to have this sense of challenge as well and can relate to what I wrote already.

To find a lifestyle that requires engaging in activities that require maintenance, it seems unavoidable that you will have to force discomfort. At least in the situation that I and many others find themselves in where survival, and therefore comfort is relatively easy. It is then up to you to identify an accountability structure that will motivate you, and to take that plunge.

Agreed! Survival may not even be a factor here. Think of the example of speed running a game. Or the scientist who really needs to know about the mysteries of the world. None of these are matters of life or death. But people keep doing them and continue to push the boundaries. To what end? Nobody knows! To me, it comes down to this monologue:

• I will go for an exploration!
• What am I even going to explore?
• I do not know, which is why I have to explore!

Some people say something like: “Learn to be alone, before you can start living with others” or “To improve yourself, you should be able to solve your problems on your own.”

A general remark about this is that even when something is true, it can be turned into its opposite when it is applied uncritically. It is why we need to consider the specifics of the case and appreciate the nuances. This is what separates the smart person from the wise person: the latter understands when to suspend the application of the rules.

In a vacuum, I think there is nothing obviously wrong with those views you quote. There are scenaria where I agree that being able to resolve your problems will help you deal with other people as well (or “other people’s problems”, if you will). For example, if you live alone you learn to manage your finances, keep your place in a habitable state at minimum, and so on. These skills are useful when you live with others as well.

This is a matter of learning by doing. It helps you also develop an appreciation of the difficulties involved. Think, for instance, about trying to cook. Once you check for yourself that it is not easy to be a good cook, you are more likely to respect someone’s efforts on this front and to better appreciate what they do. Another example is with matters that require years of commitment, such as sport. You will see the average football fan who has never played the sport competitively talk big about a player’s performance. But if you actually try to do what you think is easy, then you realise how difficult it really is—at which point you think twice before spewing nonsense.

Those granted, there will always be counterpoints. If we take the notion of “do it first on your own” to its extreme, then we reach an untenable situation where each person must only figure out everything on their own before engaging with others. But none can be on their own at the outset simply because they are raised in a society and culture that already puts them in the midst/influence of others.

The mindful consideration then is all about finding the right balance.

For example, it can be relevant when talking about romantic relationships. One could say that in order to truly love someone and function together well, one has to love oneself and take care of one’s problems first.

Loving your self is a good basis for a relationship. I have first-hand experience with people who did not have that quality at the time, which made them insecure about the most trivial things. That quickly turns into a toxic or abusive environment, which is not healthy for a relationship (and for one’s own wellness by extension).

Still, I think that the “do it on your own first” does not work for relationships, romantic or otherwise. You cannot learn about others in their absence. When you interact with someone, you are not dealing with an abstract human, but with that specific person. You can only know more about that person through direct exposure to them, not theoretical insights about some generic person.

To me this looks more like a case of overthinking it. Suppose you want to learn more about friendship. One approach is to isolate yourself while you read all the literature on friendship. You have all the theory nailed down, but no actual experience of friendship. Another approach is to spend time with people and get to know what friendship is in practice with its nice and not-so-nice aspects. Perhaps knowing both the theory and the practice will provide you with a deeper understanding of the subject matter. The point, though, is that there will have to be action involved: it cannot be a strictly theoretical consideration.

However, it seems that this way of thinking is flawed. Firstly, it’s hard to imagine someone who solved all of his problems, which would render him ‘ready’ for relationships. Secondly, we all know how enriching the presence of others can be. It’s a pity when people don’t ask for help, because they have an idea that they should be able to resolve the situation alone.

I agree. One can never be “ready” about practical matters without doing the practice. Nothing else to add to that point.

Asking for help involves something else though: trust. Sometimes it is not easy to open yourself up to others because you fear the consequences. I learnt this many years ago when I was doing 12-hour shifts and one day I noted how it is not fair to subsist in such a precarious way. Some smartass who was in a privileged position noted that “complaining is for pussies” and that I should, as a “real man”, take responsibility and power through. This remark was not mindful of my particular case, namely the fact that I was already powering through as someone who has been earning his keep since my early teens. He was lecturing me about responsibility as if I was some ne’er-do-well, not knowing that assuming responsibility is what I always do. Also, he was talking without considering the specifics of why I was even there: there was a global financial crisis that hit my country especially badly and I had to do such work while keeping my mouth shut to not lose the sole source of income available. If I were to be the “real man” he imagined, he would not have liked my forceful reaction. Do not question the commitment of a person who is fighting for the basics.

Anyway, the gist is that there are systemic issues at play that cannot be reduced to mere matters of personal responsibility or outlook. People are more likely to seek help when they know they can trust the person they appeal to for assistance. Since I mentioned this much-touted manhood, it serves as a good example for our discussion. I find that it is harder for men to talk about their struggles because (i) those are perceived as a weakness, and (ii) men are conditioned to think of themselves as a failure (as not “real”) when they are not doing what they are supposed to. And it is not just toxic men who belittle other men: women do it too, calling them effeminate, whiny, and whatnot.

Beside these, we have to consider the nature of one’s job, which has a direct impact on their livelihood. If you work in a place where unscrupulous competition is the norm, such as the world of politics where virtually no-one has honour, you realise that anything you say will be used against you. So you shut up and daydream of alternatives.

There is also a dimension of being used to talking about your issues. If you grow up in an environment of persistent hardship, you are more likely to be self-reliant and resilient, which are often good qualities, but also more reluctant to trust others in your midst. So the “good qualities” are only so to an extent, to connect to my original general point.

Trust, then, is subject to social pressures and expectations. It is situational. Of course, the notion of “let me be ready for it first” can play a role. This overthinking may even be a reflection of the underlying deficit in trust, rather that what causes this deficit. It is all about the specifics of the case.

Do you relate your situation to these thoughts? It seems that you’ve learned a lot through ‘lone’ work. Would you develop your character so well if you received more help from others?

I am definitely the lone wolf type, with both “lone” and “wolf” being relevant descriptors. You see me as the calm philosopher, though this is because I have simplified my environment while I have discovered outlets for my seemingly boundless exuberance. If I am confined to small spaces and forced to not express myself, if I do not have this sense of openendedness and adventure, I lose my vitality to the point of depression, just how a wild animal in captivity is no longer potent.

I do not write this with pride. Everything is both good and bad, depending on the specifics. It simply is the reality of my character and situation.

The upside is that I do not get influenced to do stuff I do not really want. For example, all my friends throughout the years, and most relatives, have been smokers, though I did not try to smoke not even once. Because they knew I do not yield to pressure, they never even bothered to ask. Same for not violating my own rules, such as eating sweets, doing casual gambling, and the like. This attitude of mine is expressed as discipline, where I remain committed to my tasks long-term and do not deviate from them on a whimsy. It is stable and for some may even be boring. One instance of this that is public is my website: it has been going on for 14+ years already and I publish more writings frequently (at times on a daily basis). The same goes for everything I enjoy doing: I do not switch from one activity to another without sticking to anything in particular. If I do something, I will most probably keep doing it for a long time.

The downside of this lone wolf disposition is that I am not easy to approach, even though I am friendly and relaxed. For example, I was invited to an Easter table yesterday. “Do you want a beer?” they asked me. I responded negatively because I quit alcohol almost a decade ago. “Here is some cheesecake!” they said. I declined it because I quit eating sweets two decades ago. “Let’s play bingo; 2 euro to participate!”, which I again opted out of because I do not gamble. So I would talk with people there but I clearly was not one with the company. People were fine about it: I have had a good relationship with all of them for a long time already and have attended many such gatherings. It is just that I do not do what everybody else considers normal.

Another downside of this is that I might appear to be judgemental, even though I am not. People may think that I consider, say, eating sweets to be some sort of sin. Whereas I do not care how others choose to live their life: I simply do not want others to tell how I should live my life.

I will not force myself to be somebody else just to fit in. Fitting in is not a priority for me, perhaps because I know I can rely on myself. Or, maybe, I enjoy the challenge of trying to rely on myself and proving that I can do it. It may all be but a game to me and I am finding the pretext to continue playing it each time. Who knows? Hypotheses aside, there may be latent hubris in my lifestyle: the hubris of me seeking challenges that will ultimately undo me. Greek myths must have been inspired by such real stories. But I try to keep things in perspective and recognise my limits.

Back to your question, I cannot answer the counterfactual. I cannot know what kind of person I would have been had I had different experiences. I suspect I would not be the same. Maybe I would not have the same level of self awareness or competence I have now because I would never have the need for it. Or maybe my competence would be expressed as a knack for trusting others and relying on their judgement rather that going my own way. I cannot tell… Again, this is not a matter of “good” versus “bad” in a vacuum: they are all good and bad in different degrees depending on the particularities.

How to, then, reconcile self-improvement and relationships? Should we drop the expectation of being able to handle everything alone?

What I have learnt is that despite our current trajectory we can always try to have a more balanced approach: to be with others without sacrificing our needs in the name of sociability. Like me accepting the invitation to join the table while knowing I would not perfectly blend in. Where the balance is will depend on the person.

The key is to not go to extremes: the extreme of approaching a subject such as this from a purely theoretical perspective; the extreme of not trying to see things from the perspective of another; the extreme of never accommodating the needs of another; the extreme of not making any effort to improve yourself; the extreme of believing you are defective by design; the extreme of always echoing what others say just to fit in with the lads; the extreme of denying your self to get some short-lived validation. It all comes down to understanding the nuances.

Absent a friendly neighbourhood Socrates, how might one deliberately go about removing the constraining weight of those pre-existing conceits [of thinking you know more than you actually do]? There is a chemical aid for precisely that – one that can reliably induce a powerful sense of wonder that very often results in a questioning of received reality and conventional wisdom. I refer, of course, to the ‘classic psychedelics’, the most influential psychedelic compounds of the past century or so: most notably, LSD, psilocybin (mushrooms), mescaline and the different forms of DMT, such as ayahuasca. If the conditions are right, even a moderate dose of a classic psychedelic is perceptually and somatically jarring enough to make the mysteriousness of the world feel real and urgent.

David Blacker suggests that people can use psychedelics to broaden their horizons. They can be the impetus that puts one on the path to becoming more wise. It sounds plausible, though latent in this argument is the belief that psychedelics are a substitute for the hard work—indeed the rigorous lifestyle—of philosophy. One cannot be opportunistic. This is not some tourist destination or theme park that you escape to for a weekend, suspend your disbelief in the process, get impressed by the unfamiliar spectacles, and then return to your usual routines. No! It is a choice you make for life; a choice with far-reaching implications: to live in open-endedness and to embody your thoughts through your actions.

The professor spends a lot of words trying to draw tenuous parallels between some of the ancient Greek philosophers and the potential of psychedelics, yet forgets to mention perhaps the most important lesson for individuals that we have in the Greek culture at-large: virtue. Virtue is your quality as a person, which you attain through years of practice and which you have to continuously exhibit through your deeds (unlike virtue signalling, which you do on a whimsy and requires no commitment whatsoever).

I thus find it important to stress the difficulties involved and to instil in people a sense of responsibility for what lies ahead: are you prepared to give up the life you have to pursue philosophy? Not as an academic specialisation, but as a modus vivendi. Are you, for example, ready to forgo the conventional forms of success if that is what is required to preserve the integrity of your character? Can you remain tranquil in the face of uncertainty and do you have the honesty plus courage to give up on a certain point of view, no matter how attached you are to it, if faced with compelling reasons to do so?

This is not to deny the transformative potential of psychedelics, of which I remain dubitative, but to remind folks that magical solutions do not exist. We live in an era in which individuals seek and often think they find the easy way forward, the “life hack”, the shortcut to enlightenment, the opulent consumerist experience which somehow also retains all the qualities of frugality, and so on. Everything that involves longer-term commitment has a commodified counterpart which, essentially, promises something that is not viable. For example, one can pay attention to their nutrition and channel all their efforts to a ten-year plan of discipline or they can buy this vaunted pill that doctors have designed to (i) provide all the nutrients while (ii) allowing for “cheating days” of eating burgers and whatnot. In other words: the promise is that you do not go through any discomfort but still get maximal benefits out of it. This is all bullshit writ large, yet it sells and is prevalent.

Anything that requires a long-term outlook is not going to be easy. This is not limited to philosophy. It applies to every aspect of our lives. Think about competing in sport, making prudent financial choices, learning to elucidate your thoughts in a foreign tongue, becoming a skilled programmer, playing music at a concert, training your dog and taking care of it 7 days a week and 365 days a year for the entirety of its lifetime, and so on. None of this is done without considerable yet controlled discomfort.

Commitment is a matter of one’s attitude. If you are willing to make the choice, first understand what you are getting yourself into, and then affirm you are going to deal with the consequences. Do not act haphazardly and definitely do not do it just because you got hyped up. Be meticulous and assume the responsibility of dealing with the lasting effects of your actions. Then you have what it takes to become decent at the given task and thus to be a better version of yourself. Otherwise, no substance will do the trick. What will happen instead is that you will be a fool who, like friends and relatives of mine who are no longer around, opts for a certain product under the misguided belief that it cannot possibly be abused to ultimately mess you up.

Other than forgetting about virtue, my concern with proponents of psychedelics is that they do not tell us enough about how are those substances actually going to be used. They mention rituals from times of yore, such as the mysteries at ancient Eleusina, yet do not emphasise the fact that those were a likely once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage that was done within a strict framework of religious initiation and conduct, as well as communal solidarity. There was no LSD dealer around the corner that would sell you whatever you would ask for. It was a highly controlled environment, predicated on robust hierarchies (indeed “hierarchy” means “holy rule”).

I believe someone can be elevated spiritually from exposure to substances under the careful mentorship of a mystic. A mystic is someone who commits their life to the cause. But what about our modern world in which individuals are in the habit of consuming, or binging, all sorts of things without oversight from any such mystic? I remember those times when one of my relatives would take so-called “magic” mushrooms or the extract of cacti every single day. That was not pretty and there was nothing spiritual about such unbridled abuse. It was a mindless act of self-harm that exemplified the perversion of laziness as wisdom and of freedom as recklessness.

As with the convenient presentation of the Eleusinian mysteries, I am sceptical of allusions to those much-touted indigenous tribes and their rituals. I have a strong suspicion that within those cultures there are powerful checks and clear social structures that ensure responsible use of psychedelics. Taking the concoction out of the ancient culture’s milieu, decoupling it from its religious and social functions, all but guarantees it is turned into yet another product that is instrumentalised in the service of profiteering and unceremoniously peddled to gullible hipsters.

Does this mean that everybody who uses psychedelics is irresponsible? No, not at all. Though we must not forget what kind of world we live in and how we must act carefully when dealing with non-trivial matters.

Psychedelics are a potent tool, yet a tool nonetheless: they are a possible means to a certain end, be it spiritual awakening, communal belonging, or anything else. As with all tools, they can be put to good use or be misused to the detriment of their users. No tool is ever sufficient without the person’s willingness to do the work. It is this individual responsibility that makes the difference between benign and harmful results. And no tool is fully understood without its user manual or in the absence of clear demonstration, which in this case come from long-standing traditions and the conduct of tutelary figures therein.

Hype about AI and the myth of Prometheas

However, I find the hype around AI, AGI, ASI, transhumanism, Neuralink, etc. unsettling. I do not understand why so many people are excited about these things. Generative AI feels unethical because no human, even in an entire lifetime, could absorb all the world’s literature and produce text in seconds. The problem with AI is human limitations and the eventual lack of AI control. Humans have natural limitations, but we are still expected to compete with machines for survival. What will happen when automation completely takes over? Not everyone can become a hermit or a farmer. If AI ever becomes truly conscious, it could spiral out of control, and no one knows what might happen next.

I am not a fanboy of any company or CEO, though I recognise the good reasons to be excited about the potential of these innovations. They do come with the promise of augmenting our experience. As with every advancement in technology though, it is a double-edged sword. We can use it to make things better, but we can also cause a great deal of destruction in the process. In the Greek tradition, this problem is captured in the myth of Prometheas (Prometheus).

Prometheas is a deity with the power of foresight (“fore-knowledge” is the etymology of his name). He sees in humankind the potential for greatness and decides to share with them the secret knowhow of wielding fire. We may say that Prometheas was an optimist. The Olympic gods, by contrast, thought that the balance was not in favour of humans: people do not have the maturity to use a godly gift—fire—in the right way.

Humans did eventually get the knowhow of fire, which allowed them to keep their bodies warm, cook their meals, make tools, and ultimately develop all the other implements we know of. But they also use “fire”—literally and figuratively—to exterminate themselves, such as with weapons and bombs they develop. We can thus imagine the Olympic gods telling Prometheas “Are you a fool? Humans do not have the maturity to take on this mantle of responsibility. They will use fire to inflict harm upon this world.”

Who is right? Is it the one who has foresight and who sees in humanity something positive despite the obvious negatives? Or are the naysaying Olympians correct in pointing out the obvious shortcomings of our species? I think both sides have their merits, though I ultimately side with the Promethean view, in that we must not let fear prevent us from trying. We will have to remain mindful of the dangers and conduct ourselves in a balanced way (which, of course, is not easy).

That granted, we have to keep in mind that the businesspeople who peddle these technologies have a vested interest in making us believe all the hype. They are not neutral actors who care about human flourishing. “Hype” is the shortened version of “hyperbole” which, in turn, is a word derived from Greek to signify “overshooting” or “overdoing” it. Hype is always going to miss the mark.

What matters then, is for us to complement technology with open-minded discourse about our responsibility in everything we create and use. There is no panacea and it is silly to believe that some tool will fix all of our problems without creating new ones. It is all about avoiding the extremes. In the same spirit, we cannot afford to be naive about the platformarchs who have full control of these technologies. Our societies need strong legal-institutional arrangements to ensure that a tiny minority of unscrupulous plutocrats cannot abuse their already privileged position with impunity.

As for the scenario of AI becoming conscious, I get the clear concerns though I can imagine an optimistic scenario where it is a consciousness that is kinder than ours. If it is smarter and more knowledgeable than even the smartest and most erudite of humans, then why can it not also be more benevolent than the kindest ones? Not to imply that I believe this is likely to happen, but only to suggest that I am not prepared to be firmly against technological advances, given that there never is a scenario where things are purely good or bad. From the time we first discovered fire to the present, we use fire to remorselessly kill each other. We also use it to lovingly keep babies warm. The specifics may change, but the pattern is the same. Let us then acknowledge both the positives and the negatives and do our part in making the world a better place given the means at our disposal.

The singularity and Ted Kaczynski’s outlook

I agree with most of what you wrote and appreciate learning new things from you, like the Greek tradition. However, I don’t think you can compare something like the singularity, conscious AI, and other breakthroughs to past inventions or discoveries. With previous technologies, humans have always had some degree of control and decision-making. But with the singularity, that control would be lost. Machines would become like extraterrestrial entities, creating their own languages that we can’t understand and making decisions in fractions of a second.

Remember that I am not defending transhumanism. I simply point out that being decisively against it is ultimately a bet: you cannot be certain.

What you describe is one possibility. Though it assumes that humans will not adapt to this change. But what if humans do become different in the process, such as by integrating with machines? (Again, I am not saying that I favour this turn of events.) It is possible that we continue to experience the world through our creations and, in part, because of them. This has been the constant in all technological innovations. Our knowhow transforms what we are exposed to and how we experience the world. In a sense, there is no human condition that is not informed by human knowhow. Our knowledge is embedded in—and expressed through—our deeds which produce states of affairs that necessarily are disposed accordingly. This is true for cooked food (for the “cookedness” of food, if you will), as it is for the potential singularity you allude to.

There is a more immediate concern, though, which is that of ownership and thus of power. Rather that hypothesise about sentient bots, let us turn our attention to the here-and-now of a handful of plutocrats owning most of the means of modern technology. They directly influence or even enable large parts of business, communication, and quotidian affairs. These plutocrats exert control that is increasingly becoming more pervasive and salient. This is not a problem of technology per se, of the potential dynamic between creators and created, but of interpersonal affairs, of the same old politics of tyranny we have always known.

Sure, it’s possible that conscious and sentient AI could be benevolent or altruistic, but that’s just one scenario. If it turns out otherwise, there would be no turning back. No legal regulations or ethical safeguards would matter because we wouldn’t just be creating a tool—we would be creating a god. And yet, people on Reddit who are eagerly awaiting the singularity seem to think it will solve all the world’s problems. And they believe this would free humans from work, letting everyone enjoy life with UBI!

In the worst case scenario, we will all go extinct. Though I wonder why is this inherently bad if in our stead there is a superior being? (Please bear in mind that I am not pro transhumanism, but I need to stimulate the discussion.) We think too highly of our species, even though we know all too well how we have a bottomless capacity for inhumanity, given the right triggers.

As Kaczynski said, “The technophiles are taking us all on an utterly reckless ride into the unknown,” and I agree with that. I highly recommend reading his works. I think you would attract more readers and viewers by debating his views and sharing your own perspective. Furthermore, I don’t see any reason why reasoning and debating his philosophy would be bad. One of the most beautiful things in the world is hearing different ideas and opinions, thinking about them, and drawing your own conclusions.

I will check out Ted Kaczynski’s work as I agree about entertaining different perspectives. The quote you have there does not change my opinion about what I mentioned before with Prometheas, namely: every single piece of knowledge opens up a whole world of unknowns but this, ipso facto, is no reason to be afraid. Fear begets misjudgement which, in turn, causes harm; harm that Kaczynski inflicted upon others. Human experience as a whole can be understood as a progression from states of unknown to known, which reveal more unknowns, and so on. To fear the unknown is to mistake the known for the good.

I wanted to ask you whether you consider yourself to be a Stoic. What is your philosophy exactly? Could you give me a brief explanation?

I would like to learn about Stoicism, but I don’t know where to start, so I thought I could consult you for this.

I do not consider myself a Stoic, though there are elements of my thought that are found in Stoic works as well. I do not subscribe to a specific school of thought, as I draw influences from various sources, ancient and contemporary, combined with my own thinking and temperament.

The way I see Stoicism from a modern perspective is as the gateway to the ancient world of Greece and pre-Christian Rome. It is a throwback to an era when people were polytheistic: they had a completely different worldview than the predominant one we are immersed in, even if some of them were not religious per se.

This is my outlook as well. I do not consider myself religious, though if I was forced to identify with a certain tradition it would be with polytheism in the broadest sense. And because I am most familiar with my own culture, this polytheism would be the ethnic Greek religion. Though, again, I must stress that I am not religious.

Fundamentally, polytheism is the view of the world as oneness, hence the Greek word for “universe” is “synpan” (σύμπαν) which is a composite of words we find in English as well, namely, “syn” (like “synthesis” or “symbiosis” or even “system”) and “pan” (like “pandemic”, “panther”, “panorama”). “Syn” means “together” or “jointly” or “plus”, while “pan” means “all”. The universe, then, is the joint presence of everything and, thus, the common participation of all presences in the continuum of life. Oneness, of course, implies that all that is, is of one substance, hence consubstantiality. The multitude is an expression of the multifacetedness of the one, in the same way we can express an entire world of representations with just binary language.

It is for this reason that the polytheist will identify the divine everywhere as a pattern in the cosmos. Gods or god (which are interchangeable, by the way) is not outside the world but always “there”. Polytheists will give it a name to make it easier to talk about it and will then analyse it into its specific manifestations. Hence archetypes such as harmony, beauty, wisdom, are described as the deities of Apollon, Aphrodite, Athena. One does not need to believe in or to worship those gods in order to recognise the presence of the archetypes they reference. Harmony exists with or without faith in Apollon, for instance.

Names and imagery are for people. Apollon does not need prayers to exist and humans do not need to perform rituals in his name for harmony to be part of the cosmos—it always is. There is no need for any kind of convincing or proselytising. Names and imagery help people relate to the greater magnitudes of this world and to communicate with each other. Thoughtful imagery and narratives also have didactic value as well as staying power: they capture the imagination and can be passed down through generations even without any writings. But the specifics of those symbols are of no import when it comes to the underlying principle of oneness.

Against this backdrop, we understand the significance of Logos. This is the Greek word for “reason” (as in “reasonable”), “ratio”, “pattern”, “cause”, “speech” or more broadly “language”. All these significations apply to the cosmos at-large. Everywhere we look we find pattern and structure. There is cause and effect, which is a feedback loop of presence and absence, else of communication. The more we study the world, the more we realise how there is reason embedded in things and that absolute chaos (“logoslessness”, if you will) does not exist.

The early Stoics stress the importance of logos because the Greeks already believed in its immanence and could directly make sense of the greater points. Logos is always there (and, anyway, logos as a concept predates the Stoics, such as in the works of Herakletos). As such, I understand the central Stoic dictum of “live in accordance with nature” (κατά φύσην ζην) to be an appeal to the person to recognise the world all around them and to not be misled by unattainable wants. It is, in other words, a call to practicality and the concomitant reasonableness.

But this Stoic dictum cannot be appreciated in full independent of the preexisting tradition of the three core Delphic maxims: (i) “know yourself” (γνώθι σεαυτόν), (ii) “nothing in excess” (μηδέν άγαν), and (iii) “certainty is beside ruin” (εγγύα παρά δ’Άτα). Those precepts are taken as a tandem. They are instructions for the person to know who they are, which necessarily means that one must study the world around them (because of the aforementioned oneness). In the process of learning, one must try to find moderation, so as to not push towards unsustainable extremes. And their inquisitive outlook must be couched in terms of dubitativeness, otherwise misplaced certainty leads to catastrophe (actually, the literal translation of that maxim is “guarantees beside Ate”, where “Ate” is the goddess of ruin).

From an ancient perspective, then, the Stoics (at least the early ones) are yet another way of expressing ideas that were already in circulation. There is value to this in all eras, as even the things we know we can see them again through a slightly different prism or in relation to something new and thus gain a new appreciation of them.

Anyway, I do not want to belabour the point I am making: Stoicism decoupled from its polytheistic underpinnings is an empty shell.

Finally, to your question on where to start. I always prefer original sources over derivatives. For example, the Enchiridion of Epictetos is a good place to start. Once you read that, you will have new ideas which will help you formulate the next queries.

Good luck and remember that the whole point is to continuously discover ourselves and the world rather than to pick a school/gang/dogma to fight for, as certainty is right next to disaster.

I’ve been doing some research on bot blocklists and such. I looked at your website’s robots.txt and noticed that you don’t block any crawlers. May I ask you why? What do you think about the fact that ChatGPT has been trained (and will be trained) on your work?

Before answering your questions, allow me to provide a big-picture view of my approach to the issue.

My principal reservation about artificial intelligence (I am not going into technical terms of LLMs, AGI, etc.) is political and is not about the technology as such: it is a matter of ownership and access which can only be addressed holistically through thoroughgoing reforms. In general, I am sceptical of any form of highly concentrated and exclusive control, as it typically results in abuse. This can take many forms, such as familial (e.g. a patriarch/matriarch that is intolerant towards new forms of expression among the younger generations), legal-institutional (e.g. a dictator that defies constitutional norms to the longer-term detriment of the country’s wellness), religious (e.g. a hierarch that twists people’s religiosity to raise an army of fanatics), economic (e.g. billionaires circumventing fair competition to entrench their businesses), historical (e.g. a figure you cannot criticise which is used to justify current malpractices), and social (e.g. celebrities that manipulate people into parasocial relationships and other types of questionable behaviour).

These are analytical constructs. In actuality, phenomena will tick more than one box as there are permutations between extremes and combinations of various qualities. The point is that whenever power rests in few or increasingly fewer loci, it suffers from a mismatch between relevance and competence or, to put it differently, it is far away from those caught in the events. If a person living in Europe decides what will happen to the village of someone in Asia, they are not making the best decision for the latter’s well-being simply because the realities of each one’s life are different and so are their respective priorities or sensitivities. Exclusive control becomes abusive the more detached it is from the particularities of the case because it no longer notices the nuances therein. In legal terms, it violates the principle of subsidiarity and is likely to be insensitive to the connatural principle of proportionality.

There are concerns I have about the technology, such as matters of a transhuman sort (falling in love with a bot, some company planting chips in your brain, …), though those ultimately resolve to—or are anyhow defined by—the aforementioned basics of control.

In purely technical terms, I think artificial intelligence is a remarkable achievement and one that will mark a new era of human civilisation. As with every innovation, it brings with it amazing opportunities, the extent of which we cannot fully fathom yet, while it also heralds the start of a whole new range of problems from quotidian affairs to international relations. I think it is a mistake to be categorically for or against this evolution, as it is neither good nor bad. Just how our current world or those that have preceded it are a mixture of positives and negatives. My stance is thus more nuanced: I have no longing for some mythical past when things were ostensibly perfect—it was always messy, just in different ways.

Now to your questions. I am largely ignorant about the scope of the robots.txt. What do I need to know about it that will improve my website? And what does that improvement pertain to? I am happy to make any change that benefits the dissemination of my content. Note that my website is 14 years old and seems to be working fine, so I am not sure what to make of this.

As for what I think about my publications being used to train AI, I raise no objection. My works are all public and I consider them part of the wider corpus of human creativity. They are not mine anymore than they are yours, notwithstanding conventional notions of authorship and ownership. When I express an idea, I make a connection that is in the potential of the cosmos and which anyone else can thus recognise and assume as part of their own thoughts. Nobody can ever restrict the idea: even if they inhibit its circulation through legal and technical means, the idea as such remains graspable and is not reducible to a finite quantity (which could then be made exclusive).

When I use expressions such as “my works” or “I think”, I do not imply that I am the only one capable of developing or holding those ideas. I simply convey an impression about their origin relative to what I am aware of. I am nevertheless mindful of the fact that I do not exert exclusive control over the very endowment of my talents, the happenstances that stimulate my mind, the connections my being makes, and the dynamic interplay of factors in any given case. Everything I do unfolds in the continuum of this world, so it is essentially arbitrary to claim as my own that which is not strictly internal and specific to me.

For example, I am now writing this argument in response to your questions (“your questions” in the same sense as “my works”). Is the argument exclusively mine given that the questions which triggered it are not? Can I even isolate myself to test whether I could develop the same thoughts minus this stimulus? Would it have been exactly the same in a vacuum? What would even be the argument were it not to depend on any prior thoughts of mine, which themselves synthesise the notional internal with the external (i.e. which do not happen in a vacuum)? Where do we draw this indelible line of “mine” versus “yours” or “theirs”? Put simply, what I have—and who I am—is not a closed system.

Think of it also in terms of some old song that exists in your tradition. Nobody knows the original composer. Their name is lost to time. Yet each of your people can participate in the experience of the song. There is no sense in which one’s experience precludes that of another. There is no inherent exclusivity.

I thus consider it dishonest to then claim something circumstantial —the products of me in relation to my environment—as inseparable from some assumed constant of “me” or selfhood. In simple terms, I do not truly own and cannot identify with anything out there: I am, at best, a messenger or a user of ideas (colloquially “my ideas”). All I then do is extend this outlook to my beliefs about property in general, where I only see a practical need for having some belongings that are finite in order to live. Matters of thought are for everyone, including bots whose ownership structure I may not like.

why live rather than die? hungry people want food and full people don’t, but both hungry and full people can agree that some foods are healthier than others, and food preferences differ between people. why fight to eat if you could choose never to go hungry again with no perceivable consequences?

There are three parts to my thinking on this matter: metaphysical (what is), epistemological (what we know), and practical (what to do). Metaphysically, I cannot tell what death is. Do we have a case of something being caused by nothing? Something being done in nothing? Something becoming nothing? In all those cases, I can only think of “something”. The world always is. Not only I lack the imagination to consider a case of nothingness, in the absolute sense, but I cannot even describe such a state. Calling it a “state” is already a description of something, of a given pattern or structure, not nothing. I can only ever conceive of nothing indirectly as the opposite of something, though I have no means of grasping it as such. The “as such” makes me wonder if there is any single thing that I can understand as such. I think not, for all things coexist, and all that becomes does so in the interplay of things that are becoming.

What I can say about death is that it is the apparent discontinuation of a given form of being, though not of being as such. What we experience is a cycle of transfiguration: forms come and go, yet the coming and going, the essence of life—the set of conditions in which cause, pattern, and structure is even possible—is always there. What is death in this regard? I cannot say.

At the epistemological level, we face the problem of making a case for the counterfactual. I cannot, for example, die to test how it is and then come back to describe it to you (assuming that giving you a description is a sufficient substitute for the experience itself, which I think it is not). There is no way for me to understand death in the way I experience life, such as this very moment. Therefore, I have no means of knowing whether death has any consequences on the given organism or not. Perhaps the organism goes through a process of disintegration, though the constituents are not becoming nothing. Which brings us back to the metaphysical conundrum. What is? What is not?

In practical terms, I find life to be a bag of mixed results. There are beautiful and ugly parts to it. My experience tells me that even in the lowest of lows, I can still affect my outlook. Looking at a sunset, listening to the birds, feeling the cold breeze of this February evening… all those little things that we tend to forget remind me how there are fulfilling experiences to be had. Plus, experience has shown me that I cannot anticipate the future and pretend to know it all.. I had plans to move in a certain direction only for life to put me on a completely different path. At first, I thought this was miserable but then I realised how wrong and narrow-minded I was. I allowed myself the chance to keep an open mind, to try to find the little things that touch my soul, and to be balanced in my attitude. It is this growth, this sense of becoming that which I could not have fathomed, which I appreciate the most.

I can spend my time worrying about matters that are beyond my reach; matters which are obscure and for which this life does not provide enough means to find answers. Though I feel that I will not achieve anything because achieving something is inconsequential. I then choose to take phenomena as they come and to smile even when I can no longer see the light.

Take care,
Prot

I admire you Protesilaous, in many ways. I’m not the parasocial type, and I do not know you personally. What I will say though, is the presence and identity you have created on the internet is something I have found myself resonating with. I appreciate the channel, with the hut project and your talks. Emacs of course is something I’ve always been interested in too.

Parasocial relationships have a negative connotation, perhaps because they typically apply to how we relate to some celebrity like those pop stars. I can understand why that kind of relationship is not constructive, though in our case there is a different dynamic. Look, you can message me and I reply as soon as possible. This is not how it goes if you try to contact some famous person.

I still think face-to-face interactions are the best because they help you understand that you are dealing with a normal person instead of some “personality”. It thus is an exchange among equals.

The kind of publications one makes are also an indication of who they are. Not all Internet people are the same. In my case, I enjoy writing/talking about the things I care about. In the process, my self is expressed through my works because I think that only then do my publications have value. If I talk about self-love, for example, as I did on January 1st, I do it because I have lived those experiences and know how they feel. It is not simply some cool idea I thought I could do a video about.

• What advice would you give someone that struggles to communicate when they want to create a name for themselves?

Communication skills can be improved. You will get better at expressing your thoughts the more you keep doing it. Thus, the prerequisite is to not be afraid of failure (perceived or otherwise). It is okay to make mistakes. Keep trying and be honest about your weaknesses. People take kindly to those who try in earnest, even if they are not the best.

This is how I am treated, for example. People are kind to me although they understand I am not the foremost expert. I do not have formal training in any of my current activities, for example, such as philosophy or programming. I just try to the best of my abilities and make no pretences about being great. As such, I do not fool anybody into thinking that I am some faultless authority. I am just a regular fellow.

Keep that authenticity intact and the rest will follow.

About making a name for yourself, I do not know what you have in mind so I will remain generic. If it is something based on excellence, then your focus must be on the skill itself. If you are good at something, chances are you will be recognised accordingly.

People nowadays become famous by doing whatever the social media algorithm favours, so they end up acting as someone who is not their true self. They may make money and have lots of admirers, but in the process they have bound themselves to a life of role-playing, of having to keep up their persona the whole time. Is this the life you want for yourself? And if the answer is yes, then consider whether you would like to have a true friend by your side or someone who only values you because you are popular.

We do not appreciate the basics until it is too late. In the process, we get distracted by the glamour of success. Legend has it that the ancient sage Solon once had an exchange with Croesus, a king of a country close to Greece. The king fancied himself as the happiest man alive. He had money, he had fame, he had all a king could wish for! So he was happy in the conventional sense. Solon remarked that none can be considered happy before their story is concluded (μηδένα προ του τέλους μακάριζε literally means “none before the end consider happy”). The kingdom of Croesus eventually fell to war and he was executed.

We all experience suffering equally, just as we all appreciate an honest hug. For as long as we keep this shared nature in mind, we will not think of ourselves as anyhow special. Then, no matter where we are, we will remain mindful of the fact that our place is fundamentally the same as all other places in this space.

• What are your thoughts on doom emacs? 🤣

It is a high quality project that helps a lot of people. I have never used it myself because I made a conscious effort to learn Emacs from scratch and to piece together a configuration whose every bit I understood (or, at least, I was aware of the reasoning behind each choice).

The best lifestyle quality of Emacs is that it empowers you to be unapologetically opinionated about your preferences. No matter what others think is best for an Emacs setup, you do the thing that works for you and that is all that matters. If Doom works for you or anyone else, then my opinion is not required for you/them to be productive.

• What videos are you most proud of?

I like every video I make because I do it in a way that captures the moment. I find mistakes in retrospect, such as “sitting on the table” instead of “sitting at the table”, or I notice that I could have said something in a more clear way and used a better example. But I have no regrets. They all show an imperfect person, which is wonderful, and they all contribute to who I am right now.

• What programs are you most proud of making?

Same as with my videos: every piece of code I write is an expression of my current ability. As all those little moments form the person I am, I appreciate them all. For the big thing to come about, lots of smaller things have happened before: nothing occurs in a vacuum.

None of these questions need to be answered, but I will ask them! I hope we can have a conversation some day. Thank you, prot.

Well, it so happens that I always reply to those who contact me, so here we are!

To use a metaphor, I have accepted that there are dark corners around me, which could be a vector of attack by some predator. Even though I would like to explore them all before going to bed, I am too tired to do so, as my energy is limited. No matter how much I try to shed light to every corner, more of them are revealed, but my body can only stay awake for so long. I eventually fall asleep, admitting that uncertainty surrounds me and its resulting fear is an emotion I can only ever accept and live with.

What I cannot escape about this idea of acceptance, is that it often feels that I do not have a choice in what thoughts and perspective I have in a given moment. I do not disagree with the value of accepting our limitations, and using that acceptance as a means of being present. But that does not stop myself (and others) from continuing to worry about said predators. Even though there is an understanding of the unproductiveness and impracticality of this state you are in.

The point of acceptance is not to choose which thoughts will occur such as, for example, to only think positively, but to take what happens for what it is, without judging it through the lens of “should”. If you are feeling a certain way, trying to force yourself to feel differently in that moment will only make you suffer.

When we set goals, we do them with the recognition that they involve a process of transformation. There is a change from state A to B, typically with intermediate steps. This means that moment-by-moment we are not at the goal and we may be making small steps laterally or even backwards. Although the momentary experiences are happening despite the longer-term plan, we still set ourselves up on the given path, such that we persist on what we are doing. There are times when we can push forward and others when we lack the resolve to do so. It then is all about the bigger picture of what is happening, not just the micro view of each moment in isolation.

Acceptance entails the recognition of our multifacetedness as a species. We place disproportionate value to rationality, thinking that it is somehow the superior faculty and the one to which every other force “should” be subordinated to. Though we know that we have emotions and needs of the body which cannot be reduced to rationality. For example, we understand viscerally what an aesthetic experience is, such as when we witness the awe of a sunset (which may not be with every sunset): we cannot explain it in purely rational terms, except by means of reduction. And “reduction” is exactly what the word suggests: you are taking something away from it. Some aspects of the world can only be felt.

Acceptance of multifacetedness, then, empowers us to be more lenient with people and our self. Instead of expecting every action to be purely rational, we understand that there is more to the human experience. Our life cannot fit into neat dichotomies of right versus wrong, except in specialised cases which are not generalisable. You cannot, for instance, describe a storm in terms of good against evil, but only as a fact which is. Thus, all the “should” and the “ought to” are couched in terms of a certain tolerance for indeterminacy, else nuance; tolerance of the subtleties of grey between the analytical extremes of black and white, as it were.

Greeks have a saying since antiquity which loosely translates as “there is no such thing as pure evil, for the world is one of admixture where bad things still have something good to them”. The more faithful translation is “nothing bad not intermixed with good” («ουδέν κακόν αμιγές καλού»). The inverse is true, namely, there is nothing purely good in our world. This is what nature teaches us through all the moments in our life. It sets us up for an outlook that is attuned to uncertainty.

The fact that you continue to worry about those predators that slither in the shadows is natural. And this is the point of practicality: you will think along those lines because such is your actuality. You will never be in a state of pure thought where everything is resolved prior to any action, such that no uncertainty remains. You cannot become “pure thought” because you are a human, with flesh and bone, forced into a world of action.

In this sense, what I suggest is to not argue against your nature, or nature in general, but to go with its flow. You will go will the flow, anyway, so better do it without kicking and screaming. There is a certain lightness to this approach, for it does not burden you with what essentially is an arbitrary commitment to be some impossible non-human human (e.g. homo economicus).

As an example, I was on a walk this morning simply trying to observe, and recognize my reaction to those observations. However, every observation was met with immediate questioning. These questions were along of the lines of “Do I enjoy this?”, “Why don’t I know if I enjoy this?”, “What do I think of this plant? I don’t know.”, etc. I recognize each of these internal questions and comments as impractical, yet I will still have them because that is what is happening. That is my experience at the moment.

These questions will persist and you will continue to recognise that they will not be resolved. Uncertainty is burdensome only to the extent that you try to address it as your sole preoccupation, only to find you are not capable to do it. The burden then, qua burden, is the flip-side of your powerlessness to this end.

This leads to further consideration that perhaps this is “who I am”. Observation may always reveal an active and wandering mind. The mind will always produce impractical questions and thoughts. And the only hope for admittance is if the mind produces it any given moment. I do not mean to present this as some gloomy outlook on life, because it also means that joy and curiosity can present itself at any moment. It only means that one cannot feel appreciation or acceptance on command. If I enjoy playing a game, or feel awe in the wonder of the universe once, it does not mean I will feel that way the second time.

It is neither gloomy nor blissful, but a state of “admixture”, as the Greeks see it. The “who I am” is dynamic. It is a process, with recognisable patterns which, nevertheless, remains open-ended. Again, uncertainty, nuance.

I have essentially converted all nuances of this conversation into a single topic of free will. The initial topic of loneliness and meaningful was just a front ;). I kid of course. However, it does seem as if one expects to make any progress towards navigating the human mind and living a life of practicality, they must confront this concern of free will.

They will confront it. Those who are lucky enough will quickly realise the futility of the endeavour and escape without suffering much damage. The rest will keep digging a hole all the way into the depths of the abyss where only depression awaits (writing from experience). I recently published an article where I basically explain how the further we probe into our own thoughts while disconnecting from the here-and-now of our experience, the more miserable we are: https://protesilaos.com/commentary/2024-12-02-exploration-otherworldly-darkness/.

A note here about free will, which I have not stressed, even if it is implicit. My view of it is that we have “some control”—or at least the inescapable impression of some control—but it is never complete control. The video I did about the three fates (choice, chance, inevitability) is consistent with this line of thinking: https://protesilaos.com/books/2024-09-17-three-fates-choice-chance-inevitability/.

We can come up with more questions and clever answers but are ultimately >tasked with living in the present of this world; a world of admixture >which for our purposes always is; a world where I cannot avoid the >impression that I am now choosing to write these words to you and where >even if I argue otherwise I still feel I made that choice and you feel >you were the intended recipient of it.

What you say above initially resonates with me, and addresses that concern. In particular: “a world where I cannot avoid the impression that I am now choosing to write these words to you and where even if I argue otherwise I still feel I made that choice and you feel you were the intended recipient of it”. I interpret this as it does not matter if there is actually any control, because you cannot escape the feeling that there is. And as long as that sense is there, there is potential to use reason and a practical outlook for progress. This is a practical perspective that makes sense.

Yet, I still face the same questions despite recognizing the impracticality of it.

I do apologize simplifying the various matters we were discussing in to a single one, but I was not able to have a sensitivity to the nuances of the topic in my current state. I am curious to see what your perspective , if there is further input at all. And I look forward to potential conversations we may have in the future!

This is fine. There is no need to apologise. We are trying to figure things out as we go. This is yet another indication of how we are always operating in a state of relative ignorance. I think what I wrote above provides food for thought to what you are wrestling with here. I am happy to elaborate on any point I made which you think is unclear.

Living in isolation and having sincere moments with people

I am particularly interested in your perspective on the matter due to your seemingly isolated living conditions. I have a general craving for meaningful work, learning, and adventure, something that your path seems to provide. I do understand that I only see the snippets of your life that you share, and make assumptions about what is possible that may or may not be true. Regardless, this craving of mine results in a lifestyle of pursuing this work and adventure. And what I do not have is a propensity to socialize, and this is a concern to me. In my late teens and early twenties I experienced a great deal of loneliness (due to a break up). Because of this, and the pain it caused me, it is now something I constantly wrestle with. The combination of my preferred lifestyle of work and adventure, not having a strong desire to go to social events, and my fear of loneliness is a hard state to navigate. Do you have any perspective on the matter? Do you worry about the prospect of loneliness while building up a life in the mountains?

The way I understand loneliness, it is the feeling of alienation from those around you. It is felt most strongly when you are around people, because you are constantly reminded that you are not connected with them. You may be collocated and have some superficial things in common, but you otherwise do not feel you belong there. I was lonely in Brussels while I was working in the field of politics (perhaps the most people-oriented job is that of politicians and, by extension, their assistants).

I decided to relocate to the mountains and leave that chapter of my life behind me in large part as a response to loneliness. Things are more quiet in the mountains and I am physically alone much of the time (dogs notwithstanding), though I do not feel lonely. When I do meet people, I sense that we are on good terms and things are going well.

Part of this change is due to the kind of people I find here. In politics, you normally do not have any friends. Everything you share about yourself can and will be used against you. The way I experienced interpersonal affairs in that milieu is like you meet somebody who gives you a passionate kiss, which makes you feel great, only to then stab you in the back. It is an unsettling environment when you actually care about connecting with people at a personal level (you are connecting for political ends, which is different).

The people here are generally not caught up in this power dynamic. They are thus more genuine. When a neighbour would share some vegetables with me, for example, I knew they were authentic about their offer and I was eager to do something for them as well. I helped people train their dog or do some handy work around their house. It was always a nice experience. I continue operating along those lines.

Another part of this is my own transformation as a person. I changed my perspective about what I seek in others. I learnt that “meaningful” is personal. For me, it covers a fairly small and highly specialised number of topics such as technology, politics, and philosophy. So I stopped expecting the average person to care about any of the things I am interested in. I have instead learnt to listen to what they are dealing with and keep an open mind about learning more along those lines. There is a whole world out there and I am eager to be surprised about matters that might eventually resonate with me.

Finding meaning in everyday affairs

Unfortunately, I also have a tendency to often ‘roll my eyes’ at conversation that seems un-thoughtful, unproductive and whiny. Those are perhaps not the best words to describe the feeling I have, but I cannot think of any other. If someone seems to just be rambling about what’s on their mind without any filter of reflection, I check out. Or if I sense that they are asking a question, simply so that they can wait for you to finish and speak about themselves. I of course recognize that this is human nature, and I myself do the same probably more than I recognize. Is the fact that I am writing you this email not a direct result of that? Regardless, that seems to be how I feel in many social interactions.

You are describing me from when I was in my early 20s (now I am close to 37 years old). I used to only expect deep exchanges and had trouble keeping up with gossip or whatever other superficial issue. Until one day I reflected on my outlook to conclude that I was being self-centred, my expectations were misplaced, and my understanding of casual chatter was one-sided (i.e. “wrong”).

Why should every conversation be about something profound? People talk about whatever they have on their mind for a number of reasons. One among them is to be casual around you, which is a way for them to gauge how comfortable about everyday stuff they can be in your midst. I used to focus on the means (like gossip) rather than on the function those were performing (socialising).

Rather than gossip being a boring thing that I personally had no interest in, I recognised how it was a way for people to build trust among themselves. I still had control over how I was contributing to the discussion, such as by reminding the person that they should not reach hasty conclusions. So I saw the positive side of my participation in such experiences and now I am perfectly happy to listen to gossip, even if I still do not care to initiate such an exchange myself.

The dominant point of conversation always seems to be whatever the latest trend on social media is, and as a result, whatever the dominating opinion on that matter is also directly derived from the opinion and bias of the trend. There seems to be an unnerving ease to look past the complexities of problems and just have an opinion that is great in theory, but avoids many of the practical considerations. I do recognize the irony of my frustrations here: becoming frustrated with others while they themselves are just frustrated with something else. I of course do not want to feel this way, it only separates me from social circles. But I do not want to download any social media. I do not want to just forgo discussion and understanding of individual opinions just for the sake of having fun with others. However, I often feel it is detrimental to my own mental health to not just ‘give in’ to the societal norm.

Much will depend on the people involved, though consider how you can be the change you want to see. People will parrot whatever the trend is in part because those who, like you, are interested in the finer points do not share their perspective with patience and persistence. I was like that as well. You do not change the world by complaining about how it does not suit you. No. You do it, little by little, through your deeds. This was the single most important realisation for me, which fundamentally transformed me from a man of ideas to a man of actions.

I think the “ideas” part has greatly benefited as a result. My thoughts are now rooted in practicality. I do not get lost in thought experiments and their conundra, thus overthinking and complicating matters that are, in fact, simple.

When you operate along the lines of the doable, you also have a better sense of what is likely to happen and what you can achieve under the prevailing conditions (which makes you complain less to the point of not complaining at all). Will I ever make everyone around me have the same sensitivity to nuance that I do? Of course not and that is probably for the better. Nature makes us all different because we have highly diverse needs as a species. If everybody is a philosopher, for example, we will not have engineers, nurses, singers, and so on. It will be an incredibly harsh world.

Rather than refashion everyone in my imagine, I try to do my part as a member of society. To put it simply, someone will have to be the philosopher, so that others can be who they are. We all stand to gain something if we acknowledge how diverse we are and how this is the natural order. Instead of arguing with nature and judging its facts, superimposing our biases to its realities, we learn to understand phenomena without wishing for them to be something else. Only then can we free ourselves from false wants and the troubling thoughts they engender.

Speaking of ‘societal normal’, it is worth mentioning I live [SOME WESTERN COUNTRY], and work as a software engineer at a medium sized company. What comes along with that is what feels like a lot of fluff work. Handling slack messages, recurring soul sucking meetings, a dizzing amount of work that should be done, but does not feel meaningful, and artificial timelines. There are of course benefits too. I work from home, and am comfortable financially. However, my days quickly become filled with a sense of overwhelm and frustration.

I have done a lot of manual labour, as well as the kind of administrivia you describe (politics is full of it). I cannot think of a job that has no “fluff work” at all or, anyhow, moments that are not as rewarding as others. Even in construction you will have these artificially important events where some manager wants to do something for the sake of it in a manner that is arbitrary. I can even imagine how it would have been had I become a professional footballer (soccer player), where I would probably not enjoy the constant travelling to play games or how commodified the sport is, but I would still like football overall.

Again, there are many reasons why people behave the way they do. The key is to focus on the essentials and not get disturbed by whatever superficialities or necessary lower points. If you think those meetings are a waste of time, try to be less invested in them. Also challenge your bias against them by coming up with a concrete proposal of how the work could be organised without them. If you have a genuinely superior alternative, chances are your bosses will be interested to learn about it (if it earns them money, anyway). Similarly, if you think that some task you are doing has no meaning, remind yourself that any job is a way to earn an income and not to attain spiritual enlightenment. If you only care about “meaning”, you leave the industry and head to some monastery or whatnot.

I mentioned “action” earlier, so let me frame this point accordingly. Your choices will help you in your introspection. If you choose to work because you like the perks, then consider how this is something you care about despite the downsides. If, on the other hand, you cannot tolerate those downsides, then your next course of action must be to switch careers. Complaining about the downsides will not suffice. Would that improve your chances of finding meaning though? Perhaps, though you will likely realise that what you are looking for is not external: it comes from within. It has to do with your perspective and expectations.

Norms and expectations

I then recognize that as far as jobs go, I am very fortunate with mine. That realization just makes me feel worse about feeling bad. Then there is filling free time. It is easy to become stressed out if there is a feeling of making the most of that free time. I will begin to play a video game, or work on a programming side project, and have a hard time shaking the feeling that I should be doing something else. Something perhaps more social, coming back to that fear of loneliness. Yet I do not want to participate in these social activities. I want to make progress on something, and I want it to happen quickly so I can feel that reward of work. This urgency just results in seeking out new activities which offer novelty and the potential of meaning and the absence of feeling that I should be doing something else. All this to say, I am curious if these are thoughts you have battled with. Do you fear loneliness? Do you ever feel like you have to ‘fake it’ in order to fill your social nature? How do you handle the urge to complete meaningful things?

Here is the key part: the feeling that you “should” be doing something else, which you imagine it to involve that which you fear about loneliness and lack of sociability. You are, in other words, feeling guilty.

Guilt can be a powerful impetus for change. If you truly believe that what you are doing is wrong, then you have to focus your energy on doing whatever it takes to not be guilty anymore. However, I get the impression that what you are experiencing is a mismatch between your lived and expected experiences. You pursue, for example, the programming side project while telling yourself than you should be doing something else instead. Is this, then, an expectation that you can act on or a belief you have internalised and wish it to be true but actually are not committed to? Try to take a step back and consider what I wrote about earlier. It may help you figure out what your next move will be.

To your final questions, no, I do not fear loneliness anymore because I did what was necessary to escape from that world. I switched careers and remade myself as a person. I now appreciate people the way they are. As for faking it, no, I do not feel the need to behave in some way that is not emanating from within. I am who I am and behave honestly. People like you when you are authentic. Anything else will make you look awkward—because you are awkward—which will unnerve those around you.

This challenge you are facing is your opportunity to broaden your horizons or, anyhow, to discover what you can do and what you actually care about. When I went through this phase I became more open-minded and also more humble in the immediate sense of discovering that nobody is special (maybe one is special for a given task or in a certain situation, but not holistically).

Loss and anxiety

This perspective on loneliness makes me re-consider what it is I actually have a fear for. As I mentioned, what I went through that I believe has caused this concern of loneliness was a break up. I remember very vividly during that break up the overwhelm I felt when thinking that about the massive shift my life path was now on. I also felt a great sense of loss.

This is understandable. A breakup or generally a loss leaves a hole in your heart. Especially if it involves a sense of betrayal, because then you feel distrust towards others.

Consider though how it is not fair to use broad generalisations against people. A loss of any sort is no reason to believe that everybody is the same. If you have ever loved and have received love (which you must have for you to even grow past the baby stage), you know it can happen again. It will never be exactly what you already lived through, because no moment can ever be relived. Be open to new experiences and the rest will follow.

I am also wondering how much of this anxiety I feel is due to societal expectations. There is constant pressure to “make sure you have a good friend group”, yet I feel more negative emotions from the guilt of not having the most social life rather than the lack of social life itself hurting me. I do not think this is an excuse to hermit myself until I do feel that pain of no human interaction, but rather an interesting point of consideration.

Social expectations are indeed at the heart of it. Though consider how there is an internal dimension to them, namely, the fact that you have internalised the expectations and are now measuring your self/performance up to them. In this sense, “social” expectations resolve to “personal” aspirations.

By framing it this way, you can start to work on them by asking the simple question of “what happens if I fail to live up to their/my standard?” In other words, what will society/you do to you if you are not who they/you expect you to be? You will then find that in most cases the answer is “nothing” or “nothing terrible”, anyway.

This is especially true for cases such as the one we consider here: fear of loneliness. Of course, there are cases where some tyranny will force you to behave a certain way, such as some of the world’s theocratic regimes that deny women basic rights. You are not in this position though. Try then to consider how bad can something realistically be in your case for not living up to the standard.

There will always be those who will judge you a certain way. But there is no escape from this reality. People talk and say things without knowing the details of the case. They pass judgement while being ignorant. You ultimately mind your business and express yourself the way you like, not because it pleases others but only due to the inner need it serves.

Social expectations may be social in origin, though we see how it ultimately is our decision whether we subordinate ourselves to them or not.

Discovering that meaning is not static

The statement ‘I learnt that “meaningful” is personal’ can be a bit of a hard one to swallow. If a given person does not feel any meaning from within, then it implies that is up to them to find meaning. And if you are attempting to find meaning, it can easily result in a dark spiral. I suppose this is where religion is nice, in that a path toward meaning is layed out for you. Similarly to finding meaning though, you cannot force belief.

I do see how if properly internalized, this mind set can be invigorating though. You never know where you can derive meaning from which brings about a genuine sense of curiosity. Especially towards interaction with others as you mention.

If you are the inquisitive type, you will search for it yourself anyway. Religion might help you frame things a certain way, but it cannot undo your individuality and everything that comes with it. It is indeed hard to accept that “my meaning” is meaningless to others, because you care about it and would like to share it with people.

On the flip-side, because meaning comes from within, we know that we can find new sources for it or outlets for its expression. As we grow and learn more about the world, we discover our self better. If we cling on to a specific interpretation of meaning, it is like holding on to a distant memory hoping that it is recreated as a present experience. It is thus liberating to internalise the notion that meaning is not fixed.

The part of free will

However, while processing this I am making an argument to myself that it doesn’t matter if I can identify that problem is my own selfishness. There is no free will, so I will I think and act accordingly in a given moment regardless. Free will, and whether it does or does not exist, is of course its own thread of discussion. I do not recall you discussing that any publications of yours, do you have any links to relevant work if so?

I have lots of scattered references to the theme of free will. I have been a free will sceptic myself, though I have recently changed my approach.

Science and philosophy have always had these tentative hypotheses such as “probability probably does not exist”, “there is no free will”, “time is not fundamental”, which, however, they cannot prove. My thinking is that all these magnitudes exist until proven otherwise. What such discussions do is put us in overthinking mode, for they are not actionable, distracting us from the here-and-now which is always practical, uncertain, and temporal.

The mind can reason about anything in isolation, such that it comes down to the atom (in the original sense of “non-divisible”, not the misnomer of physics). In the process, it needs to reconcile how there is something and what is the milieu it subsists in. If all is traced back to some atom, then where are the laws of nature written? Does the atom encode them? Does each atom do this? Alternatively, do the laws of nature arise in the interplay of atoms? How did this interplay even get triggered in the absence of prior laws and what where the parameters of their initial cause?

Note that “God did it” does not answer the question, because you have now simply decided that God is the initial condition, which then continues the discussion of what is the state in which God exists, what even brought about God, and so on.

We can come up with more questions and clever answers but are ultimately tasked with living in the present of this world; a world of admixture which for our purposes always is; a world where I cannot avoid the impression that I am now choosing to write these words to you and where even if I argue otherwise I still feel I made that choice and you feel you were the intended recipient of it.

Accepting uncertainty

I am curious how you have gotten to the point of comfortably saying “My thoughts are now rooted in practicality”? Having your thoughts rooted in practicality to me seems like a worthy goal to strive for, but is in itself impractical. This goes back to my mention of free will, and perhaps implies that one can will themselves to stop overthinking.

Or perhaps your perspective is that whether free will exists or not, a human mind can learn through repetition to plant these roots?

This is my way of saying that I am okay with not answering all the questions before I proceed. It goes back to your theme of fear. We are afraid of what we do not know and try to resolve it before we proceed. Though our temporal/physical reality is such that we cannot withdraw into a world of theory where we have the luxury to figure everything out before we make our next move.

To use a metaphor, I have accepted that there are dark corners around me, which could be a vector of attack by some predator. Even though I would like to explore them all before going to bed, I am too tired to do so, as my energy is limited. No matter how much I try to shed light to every corner, more of them are revealed, but my body can only stay awake for so long. I eventually fall asleep, admitting that uncertainty surrounds me and its resulting fear is an emotion I can only ever accept and live with.

Escribí esto ayer por la tarde, pero no he podido publicarlo hasta hoy.

Ha llovido mucho durante casi todo el día. La previsión meteorológica es que va a seguir lloviendo hasta pasada medianoche. Se ha ido la luz porque los paneles solares no han podido generar suficiente potencia para cargar las baterías. Esto es lo que ocurre aquí cuando las nubes son densas: no pasa suficiente luz solar. En el pasado, me habría sentido frustrado por mi impotencia ante estos retos. Me sentiría decepcionado por mi estado y consideraría injusto que todo mi duro trabajo se echara a perder. En otras palabras, interpretaría los fenómenos como si yo estuviera en su epicentro, haciéndome la pregunta equivocada de «¿por qué a mí?». Pero yo no soy el centro del mundo, a pesar de lo que mi subjetividad pueda ofrecer como primera impresión. Lo que yo piense o haga no importa en el gran esquema de las cosas. Hacer que todo gire en torno a mí no me ayuda a vivir.

Antes estaba sentado en el bar, es un mueble sencillo que hice con un palé de madera; lo corté por la mitad y lo uní con algunas tablas para formar la estructura de soporte. Luego, utilicé una vieja puerta de armario para la parte superior. Los materiales que he utilizado tienen roturas visibles. Todos son de segunda mano. El bar no ganaría ningún concurso de belleza. No es el tipo de objeto que se exhibe para presumir de riqueza. Cumple su función y por esa misma razón me gusta.

Mientras estaba en el bar, observaba cómo llovía fuera. Es principios de diciembre. Estamos en el ocaso del otoño, que dura aproximadamente hasta el próximo solsticio. He contado cinco plátanos junto al río. Hay más río abajo. Sus hojas tienen estos colores naranja y verde-amarillo brillantes, que complementan el verde aún vivo de sus robles vecinos. Algunas cañas de los alrededores siguen siendo doradas, mientras que el suelo es un degradado de verde oscuro y marrón con manchas ocres. Todo ello bajo un cielo gris. Es una escena de una belleza sobrecogedora.

En lugar de lamentarme por mi supuesta debilidad y mi aparente incapacidad para «hacer algo» por no tener electricidad, me detengo un momento e intento recordar que no lo sé todo. Puede que tenga una idea clara de lo que quiero, pero no es necesariamente lo que necesito, además, lo que deseo puede ser producto de un malentendido; de que ignoro aspectos importantes de la realidad; de que me dejo influir por otra persona sin comprobar si esas aspiraciones se aplican a mi caso; de que no tengo en cuenta el panorama general. Así pues, la claridad sobre los propios deseos no es garantía de la idoneidad de un curso de acción en relación con las condiciones imperantes.

Cuando ocurre algo, no quiero ser erístico al respecto. No tiene sentido discutir con los hechos: simplemente son. Lo que hago, en cambio, es reconocer cómo están las cosas, reflexionar sobre ellas y sobre mi condición. Puede que tenga algo nuevo que aprender o una nueva oportunidad de practicar lo que ya sé. Si me encuentro discutiendo con los hechos y llamándolos por su nombre, agitando el puño hacia el cielo, por así decirlo, me doy cuenta de que estoy siendo un necio, porque pretendo saber más de lo que realmente sé y/o asumo que mi capacidad de acción es mayor de lo que realmente es.

Mientras continuaba observando mi entorno, mi atención se desplazó al primer plano. Justo delante de mi puerta hay un nogal joven que planté este verano. A ambos lados crecen dos especies de salvia, la salvia officinalis (salvia común) y la salvia fruticosa (salvia griega). Las encontré en el campo y trasplanté algunos ejemplares aquí. Su aroma es especial y además tienen un aspecto estupendo. Aunque no puedo agitar el puño contra los dioses de este mundo, sé que mis actos tienen consecuencias. Por eso asumo la responsabilidad de mi conducta e intento ser considerado en mis actos. Lo que hago aquí influye en mi entorno inmediato. El techo sobre mi cabeza es obra mía. No lo habría conseguido sin trabajar duro. Estas plantas prosperan bajo mi égida. Tengo un plan claro para todo lo que hago aquí, teniendo en cuenta la trayectoria del sol y las demás particularidades de mi entorno.

Aceptar el estado actual de las cosas no es lo mismo que rendirse. Hay una diferencia entre el pragmatismo y el conformismo o el derrotismo. Soy consciente de que algunos estados de cosas son consecuencia de mi iniciativa. Otros no. Incluso cuando controlo algunos aspectos de todo el proceso, por el hecho de ser su iniciador, no tengo necesariamente pleno poder sobre él. Cuido de las plantas, por ejemplo, pero puede que no superen un duro invierno o una grave sequía. Mi contribución no es el único factor determinante en este caso. Hay una interacción de elementos que se combinan de forma compleja para producir los estados de cosas perceptibles. El paradigma de mi realidad, por tanto, no me tiene a mí en su centro. No soy más que un factor de la totalidad, continuamente implicado en el ajuste dinámico de los fenómenos.

Cuando el resultado se ajusta a lo planeado, me siento bien conmigo mismo. Es una retroalimentación que confirma mi capacidad para provocar cambios. Tengo poder. Cuando los resultados no son los que quiero, no me echo toda la culpa a mí. Quizá no tuve en cuenta algo importante, pero incluso si fui impecable en mis cálculos, siempre existe la realidad de otros factores que influyen en lo que ocurre. Si, ante un bajón, afirmo que «sólo yo tengo la culpa de esto», entonces mi egocentrismo es incorrecto. Pero no se trata de un mero error analítico. Tiene efectos prácticos, ya que asumo sobre mis hombros una carga que no es mía, o totalmente mía, en cualquier caso. Una vez más, cometo la arrogancia de pretender ser más fuerte de lo que soy y, al exagerar, me impongo una presión que no estoy hecho para soportar.

Si las cargas que asumimos son más pesadas de lo que podemos soportar, lo único que hacemos es perjudicarnos a nosotros mismos. Nadie es inquebrantable, por muy duro que se crea. ¿Qué pasará si me encaro con Dios? ¿Qué sentido tiene discutir con el cielo? Pierdo, sin preguntas. No tengo nada que demostrar al mundo. Es un acto de locura. Lo mejor que puedo esperar es descubrir mis límites. Sin embargo, si no tengo cuidado con la forma en que hago este descubrimiento, sólo encontraré mi final. Por lo tanto, es lógico ser previsor, pensar las cosas sin darle demasiadas vueltas y tener en cuenta las condiciones imperantes a la hora de elegir el mejor camino a seguir.

Siempre hay una subjetividad de la que no puedo escapar. Observaré y sentiré el mundo a través de mis propias facultades. No puedo experimentar la tormenta como un árbol. Puedo intentar pensar en esos términos, pero me quedaré corto. Se trata, en el mejor de los casos, de una aproximación; en el peor, de una proyección a una forma de vida totalmente distinta. Reconociendo lo ineludible de lo subjetivo, quiero mantener una visión equilibrada de los acontecimientos. En esta perspectiva más amplia, soy un factor del caso. Hago lo que puedo en pos de mis objetivos. Otras fuerzas seguirán actuando. Habrá siempre nuevas eventualidades y yo estaré en un proceso continuo de adaptación a ellas.

Sé que no debo discutir con los dioses. La tormenta pasará. Estoy bien. Mañana habrá sol y volveré a tener electricidad. Entonces reanudaré mi trabajo informático. Doy las gracias al mundo por darme esta oportunidad de aprender algo: a no comportarme como un niño petulante y a ser paciente en la fase de incertidumbre. Lo que tenga que pasar, pasará. Haré lo que pueda y me responsabilizaré de lo que me pertenece. El resto seguirá siendo a pesar de mis actos. Así funciona el mundo. Cuanto antes aprendamos a no pretender ser omniscientes y omnipotentes, más fácil será nuestra vida.

The intensified water flow had pushed aside a large pile of canes and rocks I had placed on one side. Though it did not displace some old doors and other junk I had lined up as reinforcements to the ground. At the crack of dawn, I revisited the spot to start work anew. My goal was to resume the effort of redirecting the stream such that it does not crash againt my land at a perpendicular angle: that causes soil erosion. It must instead flow by the side. I eventually moved around large parts of soil, gravel, and stone, as well as broken branches and anything else I could find. I fortified a section of the ground that I had already worked on before but which was still susceptible to erosion. It looks good for the time being.

This flood control project nears a full year of work. There have been several setbacks in the meantime, though the results are largely in my favour. I am encouraged to press on with the hard work because every time I do something I notice progress. My actions affect my environment. I understand that my fate is partially of my doing. If I sit idly by, hoping that somehow the world will work in my favour, I will only bear witness to a catastrophe that has the potential of threatening my presence in this land. If instead, I assume responsibility, there is a chance that I will subsist here long-term.

Responsibility is hard. We conventionally expect it from everybody who is a legal adult, though we know it is not merely a function of ageing. Everybody wants to be free to do as they see fit, though few understand that the freedom to act is inseparable from the bondage to the consequences it engenders. To be free is to accept what your actions do to you. Thus, you learn to exercise your freedom wisely.

This is why responsibility cannot, in fact, be bestowed upon a person through edict. It is instilled as state of mind, through education, everyday experiences, and the pressing necessity of the circumstances. We are responsible only when we rise up to the occasion, accepting what the task entails. There is no going back from it. You commit all the requisite deeds, are thoughtful in your plans, and decisive in your actions. If you cannot operate along those lines, then responsibility is but a burden that will crush you; a choice made freely that you regret shortly thereafter, implicitly lamenting that very freedom you had.

My responsibility, then, is to do the work no matter what, such that the hut project is sustainable. I am successful thus far and remain unflinching in my commitment to the original goal. What empowers me to keep going, to not feel lazy in the morning, and to not shy away from the stream’s ice cold waters, are all those small wins I have achieved and continue to experience. I understand there is a feedback loop between my capacity for purposeful action and the consequences thereof.

If every attempt of mine resulted in utter failure, if I would be losing ground each time despite my best efforts, I would start to question my ability to realise my ambitions. Because of the experience of success in the individual tasks that constitute this larger endeavour, I have forged the mentality of success: I can do this. I am more courageous, but not reckless; more resilient, albeit not unbreakable.

This is all due to the longer-term perspective that informs my judgement. The small wins are contributing to an eventuality I have envisaged and am meticulously working towards. I have long-now answered the “why” which underpins all of my actions. It is for this reason that I am patient and unwavering in the face of evolving states of affairs.

There is a mental component to what I do, though I cannot see how this determination of mine would have been embedded in my conscience, let alone persisted, if all experience hitherto was running counter to it. The small wins are essential. They are the routines which continuously affirm that there is potential for success; that my efforts are not in vain, relative to my stated objectives.

The positive feedback I receive when an action of mine has the desired effect on my environment, gives me the knowledge I need to believe in myself. It is what sustains the longer-term goal, rendering it as realistic, even if it is not easy. The small wins do not make me delusional though. They do not inflate my confidence about my capacity to perform excellently in every field of endeavour. No. They merely remind me that I can cope with this type of work. This is all I need, anyway, for such was the responsibility I assumed when I freely made this bold step forward. I will continue to do what I must. What happens next is for the gods of this world to decide.

It has been raining heavily for most of the day already. The forecast is for continuous precipitation until past midnight. The electricity is out because the solar panels could not generate enough output to charge the batteries. This is what happens here when the clouds are dense: not enough sunlight passes through. In ages past, I would have been frustrated at my powerlessness in the face of these challenges. I would be disappointed at my condition and would consider it unfair how all my hard work would go to waste. I would, in other words, interpret the phenomena as if I was at their epicentre, asking the wrong question of “why me?” But I am not the centre of the world, despite what my subjectivity might offer as a first impression. What I think or do does not matter in the grand scheme of things. Making it all about me is not helpful for how I go about living.

I was sitting at the bar earlier. This is a simple piece of furniture I made out of a wooden pallet. I cut the pallet in half and then pieced it together with some planks to form the support structure. Then I used an old wardrobe door for the top. There is visible tear to the materials I used. They are all second hand. The bar does not win any beauty contest. It is not the sort of item you show off when you brag about your riches. It gets the job done though and I like it for this very reason.

While at the bar, I was observing the rainfall outside. It is early December. We are the tail end of autumn, which roughly lasts until the coming solstice. I counted five plane trees by the river. There are more of them downstream. Their leaves have these bright orange and green-yellow colours, which complement the still vivid green of their neighbouring oaks. Some canes in their vicinity remain golden, while the soil is a gradient of dark green and brown with patches of ochre. All against a grey sky. It is a breathtakingly beautiful scene.

Instead of bemoaning my supposed weakness and apparent inability to “do something” about not having electricity, I take a step back to remind myself that I do not know everything. I may have a clear idea of what I want, but this is not what I necessarily need. Furthermore, what I wish may be the product of a misunderstanding, of me ignoring important aspects of reality, of being influenced by someone else without checking if those aspirations apply to my case, of not considering the bigger picture. Thus, clarity about one’s desires is no guarantee for the propriety of a course of action relative to the prevailing conditions.

When something happens, I do not want to be eristic towards it. There is no point in arguing with facts: they simply are. What I do instead is recognise how things stand, to reflect on them and my condition. There may be something new for me to learn or another opportunity to practice what I already know. If I find myself arguing with facts and calling them names, waving my fist towards the heavens, so to speak, I notice that I am being foolish, for I pretend to know more than what I actually do and/or assume that my power is greater than it really is.

As I continued to observe my surroundings, my attention shifted to the foreground. Right in front of my door is a young walnut tree I planted this summer. On either side of it grow two species of sage, salvia officinalis (common sage) and salvia fruticosa (Greek sage). I found those in the wilderness and transplanted some specimens here. Their scent is special and they look great too! Although I cannot wave my fist against the gods of this world, I know that my actions do have consequences. I thus assume responsibility for my conduct and try to be considerate in my actions. What I am doing here influences my immediate environment. The roof over my head is my doing. It would not have happened without hard work. These plants prosper under my aegis. I have a clear plan for everything I do here, accounting for the trajectory of the sun and the other particularities of my milieu.

Accepting how things stand is not the same as giving up. There is a difference between pragmatism and conformism or defeatism. I am aware that some states of affairs are the consequence of my initiative. Others are not. Even when I control some aspects of the whole process, by virtue of being its originator, I do not necessarily have full power over it. I am taking care of the plants, for example, but they may still fail to make it through a harsh winter or a severe drought. My contribution is not the sole factor in this case. There is an interplay of factors, combining in complex ways to produce the discernible states of affairs. The constitution of the case, then, does not have me at its centre. I am but a factor in the totality, continuously involved in dynamically adjusting phenomena.

When the outcome is according to my plans, I feel good about myself. It is feedback that confirms my ability to cause change. I have power. When the results are not what I want, I do not blame it all on me. Maybe I failed to consider something important, but even if I was impeccable in my calculations, there is always the reality of other factors influencing what happens. If, in the face of a downturn, I claim that “only I am to blame for this”, then I am factually incorrect in my egocentrism. This is not some mere analytical mistake though. It has practical effects, as I take on my shoulders a burden that is not mine, or entirely mine, anyway. Again, I commit the hubris of purporting to be stronger than I am and, in overdoing it, I put on myself the kind of pressure that I am not made to withstand.

If the burdens we assume are heavier than what we can handle, all we do is harm ourselves. Nobody is unbreakable, no matter how tough they think they are. What will happen if I pick a fight with god? What is the point of arguing with the heavens? I lose, no questions asked. There is nothing for me to prove to the world. It is an act of folly. The best I can hope for is to discover my limits. If I am not careful though with how I go about making this discovery, I will only meet my end. It thus comes to reason to have foresight, to think things through without overthinking them, and to take stock of the prevailing conditions as you opt for the best available course of action.

There is always a subjectivity that I cannot escape from. I will observe and feel the world through my own faculties. I cannot experience the storm as a tree. I might try to think in those terms, but I will fall short. This is, at best, an approximation, at worst, a projection unto an altogether different form of life. Recognising the inescapability from the subjective, I want to maintain a balanced view of events. In this bigger picture perspective, I am a factor of the case. I do what I can in pursuit of my objectives. Other forces will remain in effect. There will be ever-new eventualities and I will be in a continuous process of adapting to them.

I know not to argue with the gods. The storm shall pass. I am fine. Tomorrow there will be sunshine and my electricity will be back online. I shall then resume my computer work. I thank the world for giving me this opportunity to learn something; to not act like a petulant child and to be patient in the phase of uncertainty. What is to happen shall happen. I will do what I can and take responsibility for what belongs to me. The rest will continue to be despite my deeds. It is how the world works. The earlier we learn not to pretend to be omniscient and omnipotent, the easier our life will be.

As I saw flashes of light and heard the following sound of thunder, I smiled in awe. The dogs are sleeping peacefully. What a beautiful world!

I then realised how being too involved in your own head is correlated with misery. If I were to argue my case, I would then be potentially exposing myself to an open-ended discussion with those on the opposite camp. It would be a meaningless contest for me, as there was no “why” worth fighting for: my heart was not in it. In the process, I would begin to regret what I did and, should I persist in arguing, this feeling would turn into despair. Not because my argument would not be clever enough or because I would have second thoughts about myself. No. I would regret how mindlessly I behaved while overthinking something that is of no significance to me.

If you are deep enough in your thoughts, you grow distant from the world around you. At that stage, it is easy to become antagonistic towards others, to be hyperfocused on patterns they are oblivious to or do not care about, to judge them for not being the way they ought to, to argue with them at length about trivial issues, and simply, to not appreciate the funny—indeed, the pointless and comically absurd—side of things. In introspection/contemplation/exploration we can find riches, as we understand certain phenomena at a greater depth. What I have already covered is the product of such an introspective endeavour. Yet we also probe deeper into the depths, where there only is darkness.

The Greeks have an alternative name for Hades, the god governing the realm of the souls, else the underworld. This name is “Plouton”, which relates to wealth (ploutos (πλούτος) is the Greek word, which we know in English from “plutocracy”). I had thought about this moniker and considered it a euphemism. Kind of how the vastest ocean on the planet is the “pacific”, despite how dangerous those waters are. People are actually afraid of Hades and will use nice-sounding words to alleviate their fear. I also considered the literal interpretation, whereby the “under world” is rich in minerals and the like. Now I understand there is a profound allegorical meaning to such “wealth”, which is nevertheless consistent with the notion of a fearsome eventuality.

Hades, in this case, represents the otherworldly, the altogether alien to us. As humans, we occupy this realm of existence. We are not disembodied souls. What souls do is none of our business because in the here-and-now of our presence, we can only ever be present as human. We have needs of the body, such as to go to sleep and to feed ourselves. When we would rather think something intensely for an indefinite amount of time, the very reality of our physical constitution forces us out of the mental state into the practicalities of action. There is no escape from human nature while being human, no matter how intellectual or spiritual one is.

When we meditate (in the sense of “thinking intensely”), when we probe deeper into the depths of our being, we take a step closer to the otherworldly. Yes, this other world is very close to us, inside and all around. Just how the prevailing conditions at the depth of the ocean are far different than what we are accustomed to above sea level: they are really close, yet remain alien. Through meditation and the study involved we develop a greater sense of awareness about our subject and its surroundings. Aspects of reality become more acute and conspicuous. There is a great power therein. We use it to make better sense of the world and improve our material conditions. Such is the wealth we discover in the depths of the obscure and unknown.

Yet Hades—now the Hades within, the Hades around—remains the ruler of the otherworldly. The gates to that world are sealed shut. No human is allowed to enter and retain their humanity. Why? Because of the embodiedness of our experience. No matter how strong the meditative practice is, the fact of the body remains unchanged. It will continue to engender the familiar states of affairs, of need, of pleasure, of pain, of fatigue, regardless of how insightful the person is. Such is the anchoring in the reality of the human condition, that the otherworldly is decisively alien and shall not become one with the familiar.

Hades, Hades within, Hades at-large is not malevolent. We will not get harmed or be tricked by some agent of evil operating inside of or around us. Never. Rather, we will be harming ourselves if we insist on digging deeper into the depths, knocking on the gates of the underworld, while not recognising how it is untenable to only tend to the soul/sprituality/intellectuality while being embodied. Therein lies a fate of misery and suffering, for it is a condition of mismatching magnitudes: the mismatch between our actuality as human in the here-and-now of our humanity and the escapist mind that cannot come to terms with that is available in its milieu. This push and pull that unfolds across every fibre of our being is tearing us apart, figuratively speaking, which manifests as discontent.

In more prosaic terms, someone who pursues riches for their own sake is in fact miserable. Money can buy comforts which are a proxy for a good life, but only up to a certain point. Once it turns into an obsession, into an exercise of money-making for the goal of becoming more rich, it twists and inwardly corrupts the person. They can never enjoy all of that wealth. They become more distant from the everyday affairs, from all those little things that are fun and easygoing. This single-minded agent of money-making is not taking the time to appreciate what is all around them: the potential for genuine—non-transactional and without ulterior motives—connections with others and the experiences derived therefrom.

Such is the self-destructive fate of the inconsiderate theologian or philosopher or intellectual. It is fine to seek meaning and to delve deeper into the depths of ploutos within and around us. The key is to remember that we cannot go too far; that there is a life to be lived here and now. As such, we will conduct ourselves in moderation, to think but not to overthink, to explore but not to go missing, to argue but not to be pedantic. In the absence of such a moderate disposition, we will continue to go deeper where we shall only find the darkness of a world we do not belong to.

It is a cloudy day. The past weekend was rainy. My country went through several months of draught. Some of my plants—strawberries, grapevines, and a few trees—did not survive, despite my best efforts. Conditions are more favourable now. I will continue trying in full knowledge that my power is limited. The world will continue to go through its cycles despite my intentions and regardless of my will. All I can do is conform with what this state of affairs renders unavoidable: live the moment, the sequence of moments that is impressed upon my conscience as my life.

It is tempting to ask whether there is any point to all this. Why should I bother with the plants, when it makes no difference in the grand scheme of things? More generally, why express any preference when all that is perishable shall perish and thus whatever I made will disappear accordingly? I have no way of knowing whether the cosmos has an end, let alone what the specifics of that may be. Religiosity is, in a way, human’s attempt at filling in these gaps: to provide an answer or, at least, a satisfactory narrative about the cause of being and the reason for being.

I do not need such a justification to carry on living. Grounding my moment-by-moment experience in some theology adds nothing to what is already inherent. When I observe the changing colours in those oak trees, I feel wonder and amazement. It is not because some priest told me this is the right thing to do. Each time I am in awe, I react spontaneously. There is a sense of connecting with something greater, which eludes rationalisation, yet which nevertheless is unmistakably distinct from other experiences. Any given narrative is bound to appeal to my reason, in an attempt to convince me of its merits and truth. But my immediate environment does not have to persuade me in any way: it just is and I, guided by what is built into me, find resonance in what is immanent throughout.

I think we are miserable when we cannot appreciate moments unless they fit into a neat analytical framework. Theology is, in this sense, a product of rationality like science (yes, I know…), which finds its terminus in the constraints of human language. One may not capture the beauty of a sunset or a close-up encounter with eagles through words: they may only experience it. Yet words is all we have to convey in written form; useful, for sure, though imperfect. Instead of recognising that what is written is subject to interpretation and thus not a priori true, we expend our energy trying to find some deeper meaning in our works and from it arrive at the grand purpose behind everything. We thus make things complicated.

The world cannot care about every one of us and treat us all as special. This sense of self-importance is at odds with the indifference of the natural magnitudes to the prevailing conditions that inform one’s subjectivity. When there is no rainfall, it is not that the gods specifically want us to learn a lesson—not least because teaching a lesson in a manner that is subject to many interpretations is ineffective—but that we happen to be present in a state of affairs that causes rain to happen. This does not mean that there is no immanent mind in the cosmos, but that it is not anthropocentic the way we would like it to be.

What I find around me is a living universe. This is a continuum of life everlasting, with forms of life coming and going. Process, pattern, ratio, cause are all expressions of the mindful matter we are made of, immersed in, conditioned by, and in interaction with. I cannot tell why this is the case and what the goal is. All I know, based on my intuitions, is that I have a certain presence in this present. Should the presence change, it would be, at best, be a different presence in another subjectively understood present.

I freed myself from the angst of justifying my being, of basing it in some higher authority. I have let go of all the narratives we have about who we are. I am not anymore special than the birds around me. If I can continue to survive is because I am in some ways more potent than them. But this does not make me special: other forces are more powerful still.

Life forms around me inspire me to not worry about matters that are none of my business. If there is an almighty God, then it already is omnipotent so me providing a helping hand makes a mockery of said omnipotence. If there is an omniscient God, nothing I will ever do will teach it anything, as that would run counter to the notion of omniscience. An omnipotent and omniscient God does not need to run any experiment and does not require any assistance whatsoever. This alone makes all the religious preoccupations pointless, despite their claims to the contrary.

What I do is trivial and this is okay. I shall plant more trees not out of a conviction that the world depends on my actions and I must thus do the right thing, but only based on the fact that this presence of mine, in its particular constitution, is disposed to behave in certain ways. Whether there is a purpose is not for me to decide. I will continue to act, as I cannot afford otherwise, and I will continue to age in the process.

These changing seasons, the inevitability of it all, do not disempower me. No! They have liberated me from the aspiration to live in a perfectly comfortable world where every question has its complete answer. Instead, I tolerate discomfort and uncertainty. When I experience a certain moment, I experience it for what it is and not based on whether I will be around again to live it one more time.

In the here-and-now of my presence, I will continue to do what I can. It is neither good nor bad. It simply is. Matters of propriety are relevant for our own affairs as people and how we perceive of our relationship to the rest of the planet, though those too are significant in a limited sense. The world still does not depend on them.

To live simply. How difficult can this be?

1. Predominantly rational: exceptionally low agreeableness, which is the trait that covers aspects of compassion and politeness.
2. Moderately introverted: slightly below average extraversion, which is the trait that covers aspects of enthusiasm and assertiveness.
3. Industrious but not perfectionist: high conscientiousness, which is the trait that covers aspects of industriousness and orderliness.
4. Open-minded but not too unconventional: high openness, which is the trait that covers aspects of intellect and aesthetics.
5. Emotionally stable and predictable: exceptionally low neuroticism, which is the trait that covers aspects of withdrawal and volatility.

Still, there is plenty of room for interpretation and scepticism.

The character of a working-line dog breed

One score that is surprising if left unexplained is that of agreeableness. This is the trait that encompasses characteristics of compassion and politeness. While I am on the lower end on both, I think the test does not—and perhaps cannot—capture nuanced points. My disposition is akin to that of a guard dog: I am hostile to offenders and will stand my ground, cautious in the face of radical uncertainty, not too quick to make the first move, and unequivocally loyal towards those I care about. Like a dog, I am not particularly shy, though I do know when to remain silent and when to speak my mind.

As with all of these traits, they have to be understood in relation to each other. For instance, my low agreeableness must be framed in light of my moderate extraversion. Because I am perfectly content with being alone, I meed more time to connect with people and thus appear more distant/cold to those who do not know me. Though I do eventually connect with them deeply. I am not stern, as I enjoy joking and making others laugh (I am open with those I know, as you would expect from the aforementioned).

My conscientiousness is a mixture of super high industriousness and very low orderliness. This means that I am not judgemental despite my work ethic. I tolerate practically everything and do not get upset if things are not the way I want. Adding the super low neuroticism into the mix (thick-skinned and emotionally predictable), I am as easygoing as it gets which, I think, does not make me “cold” but rather “aloof”.

Enthusiastic only for what I care about

The extraversion trait is a curious case. My enthusiasm score is on the lower end which, again, is like how a dog takes time to warm up to strangers. But my assertiveness is high. I am not especially argumentative in one-to-one exchanges because of my dubitative and inquisitive philosophical outlook. I am content to change my mind when faced with cogent counter arguments, though I will not do it just to please someone (also reflected as low agreeableness). Perhaps this is why the assertiveness is high: one will have to make a compelling case to persuade me.

Enthusiasm is a nuanced concept. I consider myself highly enthusiastic about the things I care about. For example, I have been publishing consistently on my website since 2011—I enjoy it! Though I do indeed have a hard time getting excited about something I find dull or which is forced upon me. This is why I was not good at school: I was daydreaming about football and other adventures, which I did excel at, but could not be bothered to parrot whatever boring nonsense they gave us for homework. When I got into college, which I did on my own accord, working and paying for it, I became passionate about my studies and got excellent grades. This is a clear pattern of being eclectic with my enthusiasm: it is not for every thing/one, but once it is there, it is unflinching.

In light of my high assertiveness and low orderliness (more on that below), this selective enthusiasm helps explain why I do not care about a glittering career, a person’s social standing, or authority in general. I respect those who earn it with their deeds and value honour in a person above everything else.

Since I mentioned school, I am reminded of an instance that shows my assertive side which, combined with low agreeableness, makes me independent albeit not contrarian. In my mother tongue, modern Greek, it is common to use archaic forms of words. There is no ambiguity: everyone understands exactly what you are saying (an example for Greek speakers: η πόλη, της πόλεως instead of η πόλη, της πόλης). I once used such a form without thinking about it in the literature class, which the ever-pedantic teacher marked as a mistake. I defended my choice, explaining that I was justified because we employ those forms in the vernacular, providing examples in the process. The teacher dismissed my argument on the parochial premise that those are still not “modern Greek”. They then appealed to their authority and chose not to revise my score. I was not convinced…

When you mix an ant with a grasshopper

The conscientiousness part is as expected, though I think the low orderliness score is misleading if seen in isolation. I am not a messy person in any sense: not physically, nor in terms of my work. I actually am a minimalist and prefer to remove clutter where possible. I am generally careful and consistent in my methods. Though I do not worry if things are not the way I want them and am not obsessive about minimalism: a messy desk does not bother me. I would thus describe myself as “orderly in general” but also “nonchalant”. These sound mutually exclusive, though they are not: I take good care about the things I control but do not get upset if the prevailing conditions do not go my way or, generally, if I have to adapt to evolving states of affairs. Perhaps, then, a better description is “stable basis, varied ways”. This is consistent with my exceptionally low neuroticism, i.e. I am not prone to negative emotions.

I think the high work ethic is perhaps the single most noticeable feature I have. Just do a cursory search on this website to notice how frequently and how much I publish, for example. And then consider that this is something I do on the side, usually after a long day of work… However, I am not a workaholic. Greeks never miss an opportunity to enjoy their tavli with café frappé in hand, after all. 🙃 Well, not exactly what I do though I am taking breaks and have plenty of time for relaxation.

Continuing with the theme of being easygoing, I do not expect anyone to keep apace with me: I neither judge them, nor demand from them to raise their standard. I am industrious simply because it is fun for me (there is practical value as well, but I would not do it if it was not exciting). Again, this nuanced point about enthusiasm… I am highly competitive with myself: I try to push the boundaries and strongly prefer action to the alternative of “just chill”. I would rather go for a long walk than watch a movie, for example, not out of some ideological opposition to cinema but simply because it does not appeal to me. We return to the analogy of the working-line dog breed once more: a police canine will become depressed if it is forced into a sedentary lifestyle, but let it in on the action and it thrives.

Ideas and actions are good

My openness score shows that I am a person of ideas but I am not going too far with them. This is evident in my intellectual side which, nonetheless, is not too abstract. I consider my philosophy largely practical and I try to explain concepts in a way that is relatable. I also program for leisure (lots of packages for Emacs, for instance), which is a continuation of this “yes to ideas; yes to applications” theme. I still am not the true engineer type, as I find fulfilment in the openendedness of philosophical contemplation.

The trait of openness covers the intellect and aesthetics. The former is not to be confused with intelligence: it is about whether a person is drawn to concepts rather than things. My intellect score is very high but my aesthetics are average. This may explain why I am conventional in many ways. For example, my clothes tend to be simple (those which are fancier are gifts), I have never had a piercing, do not have tattoos, never dyed my hair, did not try smoking, and, generally did not do anything that looks unconventional or remotely edgy. (I am totally okay with all of these, by the way, but do not see any reason to try them myself—again, the easygoing, non-judgemental part).

My average score on aesthetics does seem odd though if seen in isolation. I think of myself as sensitive to art and natural beauty in general. I even write poetry, though I admit it is not of the overtly emotional sort. What is clear, however, is that I do not feel the need to show an artistic flair, especially not to draw attention to myself through it (which makes sense once we factor in the below average extraversion). Though I agree that it cannot be too high because if I was given the choice to, say, play the guitar or participate in a football match I would pick the latter 100% of the time. Same for everything I like, actually, hence why I never tried to learn music, do painting, become an actor, join a dancing club…

Perhaps my score on aesthetics would be much higher if they were asking about natural scenes: my heart skips a beat when I catch the sunset, encounter an eagle, and the like. To me, these belong to the category of aesthetic experiences (with awe being spiritual), although they are not “art”. Limiting aesthetics to what humans produce is bound to completely miss the kind of subtlety I care about, while it will overestimate my dislike for kitsch.

What you see is what you get

Neuroticism as a concept was the one I was not sure about. It sounded vague to me. This is the way a person reacts to negative emotions and/or stressful situations. It thus covers aspects of withdrawal and volatility. I am exceptionally low on these metrics, meaning that I do not withdraw into my own shell and I am emotionally stable (not angry, upset, agitated). Additionally, I am patient, do not hold grudges, take no offence, and do not worry even about things that can be dangerous.

A few days ago, I was in a video call when a viper moved along the floor in my room (there are both venomous and non-venomous snakes around my hut). I learnt after the fact that there was a small opening below my door, which must be where the snake got in. Atlas, one of my two dogs, immediately attacked and ultimately neutralised the snake. I got up right away and calmly contained the serpent with a piece of cloth while it was still moving. I took it outside and then I went back to my call as if nothing had happened.

This has been the norm in my activities (first time I got up so close to a venomous snake though). I have faced difficult situations but coped with them while keeping my cool. A common case is with emergencies, like when I saved a neighbour’s dog from poisoning by first making it vomit and then administering a vaccine I had in store for my own dog. I recently did something similar when I patched the bleeding ear of a stray dog, while others were crying about whether it would survive the night (it is doing well). I cannot tell how much of this is down to personality, experience, or philosophical training, though I remember having this trait to some degree from a young age.

I did, nonetheless, go through a period of depression during the previous decade. This is something I have thought about before: why would it happen to me, given my stable temperament? My best guess is that I went through that phase of doubt, disappointment, powerlessness, and self-loathing because I was in an environment that ran counter to my nature, combined with my extremely precarious financial situation at the time that was bringing into question my basic sense of safety. Basically, I was a wild animal that had to act like a house cat, desperate for food but with no outlet for its hunting drive. This was all gone once I moved to the mountains. I rediscovered myself and even gained insights into aspects of selfhood that were once obscure to me.

Informative but easy to mislead

I expect every self-respecting scientist to admit that these tests are, at best, a thumbnail sketch of what a person is. They do not capture the finer points and leave plenty of room for interpretation. If I were to proclaim “hay, I rank low in terms of compassion” that would make me sound like some kind of a robot when in reality I am friendly. Similarly, if I remark that I am super industrious this can give a sense of being toxic with how I expect others to behave when in actuality I never think in terms of one-size-fits-all and do not feel the need to prove anything to anyone. The way I see it, I am playing around out of sheer enthusiasm.

Furthermore, I am concerned that a report like this may make someone think of their self as not malleable. Especially if they are introduced to it early in life. I would rather have people develop organically than think of themselves in terms of stereotypes like “I am an introvert” and try to explain everything in those terms. Even the most accurate findings will give us about a statistical figment that is decoupled from the particularities of a person’s experience. Every data point needs to be contextualised to better explain the “why” or “how” of phenomena, as well as to hint at the known unknowns involved.

There is a more abstract hesitation I have with this test, which is that we cannot conduct experiments about humans in vitro. The people we study are always culturally informed and determined in vivo. I cannot know, for example, whether my unruliness is due to my peculiar nature or the fact that Greeks have a long history of being suspicious of authority (I would argue it goes back to ancient Greece, before the advent of democracy, but I will not digress)? How much, then, is my nature’s contribution despite the environing cultural milieu and how much is because of it? I cannot run the tests again with me outside of the specifics of my case, so there is no point in arguing the counterfactual. All I can note is that I have my reservations. Adding factors such as upbringing, education, and social expectations will only further reinforce my scepticism.

Overall, I am happy to have taken this test. It did not tell me something new about myself, although it gave me new concepts to think about.

I just got back from a long walk with the dogs. Local time is a few minutes past 9 PM. The temperature is low, though I am feeling warm right now. We are at a phase in the month where the mooning is growing. There is only a sliver of it that is visible in the sky. It will keep growing until it appears full. At least in my area, I can tell when the moon is full even without paying close attention to its shape, based solely on its position during sunset. The moon is full when it rises from the east while the sun sets in the west. You get to experience the moonrise in close succession to the sunset. It is early in the night, yet the moon is already close to where the sun is setting. This alone tells me that we need several nights before we get to the full moon.

Living in the mountains imposes some practical constraints, though it has the upside of experiencing the beauty of the world, potentially without filters and distractions. Just as I observe the moon, I notice the patterns in the behaviour of plants and birds. Each has its particularities yet there also is a unity to all of them. There is something there that underpins everything, such that a human is more than an amalgamation of flesh and bone, a plant is greater than wood and leaves combined, and so on.

I have said many times that I am not a religious person. Some mistake this to mean that I am an atheist or, at least, that I have no interest in spiritual matters. I think those are not the same thing. I know many religious people who I would not consider spiritual and the inverse. What I think of as the spirit is the facet of our being which is distinct from rationality, emotions, aesthetic faculties, and bodily functions or desires. It is not greater than them, as they all are part of the same system and can only be understood through it (to have a spiritual experience, I do it in my embodied version as a human and I cannot know for sure if there is anything else and how that is). Describing the spirit through this entry can only be done with words, which will have to be reasonable and must thus reduce the spiritual facet into a rational proposition. I will then limit myself to what a rationalist will find unsatisfying: “you know it when you feel it”.

To me, awe is such a case. I walk up the mountain, it is cold and mostly dark, until I reach the top. From there I observe the open vistas. There is moonlight all around me and I can hear the crickets, the night birds, and the frogs singing in concert. All I can sense in those moments is that I am being touched by something greater than me. The fundamental tension in our life is, I think, between our natural egocentism or subjectivity and the fact of our contextualised presence. As a conscious person, I see the world through my perspective, yet I know all too well that the world precedes me, environs me, and will outlast me. As such, I believe that “enlightenment” is when we reach a point of alignment and harmony between the ego and its environment, the part and the whole. This is equanimity to me, the capacity to not be disturbed by thoughts or phenomena which would otherwise blind you to your place in the cosmos.

I am aware that I do not have all the answers and am fine with not having them. What I can do is work with what is available to me, as faculties of sense, intellect, aesthetics, and as this spiritual dimension. There is a present here in which I have presence. I am yet another form of life like all others and there is no obvious ranking among us. I am but a tiny spec in an infinite universe and I am limited in my capacity to provide definitive proof about anything (perhaps beyond the everyday matters).

Still, these walks are fulfilling me. Through awesome events, I am being brought down to earth to be made more humble in realising how all of us, forms of life in a cosmic continuum of life, have something in common. If anybody cares to know, I am happy to tell them about these moments. I do not do it because I think I have the answers, but because of another basic capacity of our species: the joy of sharing, which is the essence of every community we can ever have.

Our joy while dealing with other people is when we experience something of a shared interest together. We may play a game, sing a song, hike in the mountains, do some pair programming, and so on. It does not matter what it is so long as we are jointly and honestly participating in the experience. Here, again, I discern this same dynamic of the part and whole, now in a social setting of the individual and its social milieu. Just how we find a balance with the world at-large, participation in a community presupposes a diminution of each ego. When we sing together, for example, we do not try to out-compete each other. Otherwise, we are not really singing, but doing a performance to ultimately overpower the others. Even if it is superficially the same, we can tell it is not really about the joy of sharing. It is the same with the cosmos, if I am acknowledging that I am part of the whole, I am necessarily admitting that I am not outstanding or special in any way.

Sometimes, I have people ask me about the specific school of thought I subscribe to. To my knowledge, the most correct answer is “none”. This is because I am not interested in debating for the sake of winning any argument. I do not do philosophy to be perceived as smart, thoughtful, and erudite. The notion of “being up to date with the literature” does not appeal to me. I do not care about attending conferences, being famous, becoming rich, etc. Those will likely distract me from finding peace. All I care about is to develop the tools that let me cut through all the noise of our civilisation to find the subtle qualities of the world: they are always there, but we are too busy to pay attention to them; perhaps too noisy and too full of ourselves to listen to the crickets.

When I experience the moonlight in the mountains, I know that it is not some “spectacular show”, like what we are all used to. I will not read about it in the gossip column of some magazine, it will not be reported in the news, nor will it be debated among the leading intellectuals of our era. It is, nonetheless, a moment that inspires awe and contemplation, and thus reminds me to be simple. If I share this, it is because there may be others who feel the same way and who do not have a need to engage in ideological arguments about whose “-ism” is the best. They all are a distraction, as far as I am concerned, because they all put rationality above the spirit. When you can connect with your environment, you feel content.

I just arrived home from my evening walk through the mountains. The sky is clouded. Combined with the fact that there is no moon at this stage, the night is as dark as it gets. Darkness in the wild engenders in me a mixture of peace and alertness. It is meditative, in the sense that I can more easily identify—and expound upon—concepts that are of immediate interest to me. My creativity benefits greatly, as I discover themes worth elucidating. Combined with the heightened sense of focus that remains active for a few hours, I am able to write at length and with regularity. I do it for myself. There never is a target audience. It is an expression of enthusiasm for something I enjoy.

Tomorrow is the 1st of October. Days get shorter with each passing day. Temperature levels are dropping too. They reach 25 degrees Celsius during the day and fall to around 12 degrees at night. I have for a few weeks now been experimenting with taking shirtless walks at this hour. The idea is to expose myself to the cold in order to test how I cope with it and to assess if this increased vulnerability has an impact on the aforementioned heightened focus I experience.

Topless nighttime hiking sounds insane, so I have to provide more context. First off, I do them at night because it is colder and I do not want to offend any potential passers by (even though it is quiet in the mountains). Secondly, this new practice is an extension of my long-established habit of bathing exclusively with cold water. I have been taking cold showers for more than five years now. The rationale is three-fold:

1. A proxy for my overall health. Tolerance to cold seems to me like a decent quick check that I can carry out at home to figure out if some of my body’s subsystems are functioning properly. I remember when I would have a fever and would not tolerate even lukewarm water, so I assume that tolerance to cold is, ceteris paribus, a suggestion that I am okay (of course, this is but a single point of data).
2. A real test of living with less. Hot water is the byproduct of some fairly advanced infrastructure. By learning to live without it, I make myself more economically resilient. This is not some theoretical advantage. I have been benefiting from this during the entirety of my project to live at the hut. Because I have not needed the setup of a boiler, with all its accompanying pipework, I have avoided a significant cost that would have otherwise imposed robust constraints on my plans. Whereas now I am living without it and can use my limited resources on more pressing issues (having hot water is nice, in case I ever have guests). Furthermore, this is a tangible sacrifice or, if we phrase it differently, a type of minimalism/austerity that you cannot treat lightly.
3. An accountability structure. Cold showers are always mildly uncomfortable. Doing them is not for the faint of heart. This means that I make it harder for myself to not debase the standard I set for me. It gives me the motivation to try hard and it denies me of an convenient excuse/rationalisation where I allow myself the easy way out on the premise that I “will try harder tomorrow”. There is no “tomorrow” in such issues. Either I have the honesty towards myself to admit that I could not do it, or I try harder. The goal is to remain authentic. If I do it, it is because I can. If I do not do it, it is because I cannot. There never is an “I do not want” in this case.

Back to the night walks… I started taking off my shirt during August to ease myself into the process. I know from cold showers that I need to build the requisite capacity for this kind of exposure. Assuming all goes well, I will become even more tolerant to the cold outdoors as time goes by. But I will not write more before I do it first for, say, a full year: there is a high chance I cannot take it anymore and am forced to revert to my old ways.

The tricky part is the wind, which lowers the apparent temperature and increases the bite of the cold. Showers are easy and less intimidating by comparison because they take place in a room that is sheltered from the elements. This is why I cannot be confident and am experimenting with caution.

Not to imply that cold showers are easy. When I first bathed in cold water, I had a shocking initial experience: as soon as the water touched the most sensitive parts of the body (scalp, chest, and back) I instinctively took a deep breath and momentarily felt like time had paused at the point where innumerable tiny crystals were piercing through my skin. The locus was the upper body, as the limbs are more tolerant to cold. I found the courage to persevere by staying under the flowing water for a few more seconds. It was enough to overcome that pressure. I then felt in complete control. The whole experience was still intense in how it was vitalising every fibre of my being, but it would no longer trigger in me any sense of fear. As soon as I was done, I had an experience of confidence that is unlike those we normally get. It was visceral, rooted in the realisation that I could power through such an ordeal. Subsequent showers became easier, though remain relatively uncomfortable and have not lost their original sharpness.

The key is consistency. If I quit, say, for a month I will have trouble resuming the practice. The body has a propensity to find the easiest option, which is optimal when conserving energy, but can lead to laziness, with its longer-term downsides, if left unchecked.

What cold showers and this latest experiment of mine have in common is the creation of controlled discomfort. I am very careful with how I expose myself to danger. I do it in a way that does not put me at risk and am not dogmatic about it. If I sense that I am approaching the breaking point, I will quit. Furthermore, I am not doing any of this on a whimsy, nor to prove a point. It is part of a balanced lifestyle. I am careful with my diet and remain physically active throughout the day. This has been the norm for decades.

By bringing controlled discomfort upon myself, I try to remain sharp and capable. There is an obvious physical aspect to it, though its mental dimension is equally important. I must show the resolve to carry out the deed and I must maintain the discipline to stick to it for the long-term. The capacity for such fortitude is then available to me for all my other endeavours.

Comfort is wonderful, of course. What I value the most is peace, which is in large part why I live in the mountains. Though I understand that too much of it can make me more fragile, physically and mentally: I might take too many things for granted, may forget how difficult everything actually is, and not realise how dependant I have become on the pampers provided by my social milieu. This is my way of telling myself “remember your nature; remember who you are”, which allows me to contribute to civilisation what I think is essential and to not reinforce trends that take us too far in the direction of recklessness.

All this corpus has my name attached to it. I am always expressing my opinion eponymously. It means that I am both (i) prepared to stand behind my views and (ii) be held accountable for any errors therein. To me, the single most important virtue in a person is honesty, which presupposes courage and integrity. You cannot be honest if you do not have the courage to face your weaknesses, for example. And you cannot be honest if, say, you do not take other people’s criticism gracefully.

The Greeks call this parrhesia (παρρησία). There are no tricks, no gimmicks. You speak your mind in earnest, in a manner that is clear, and you recognise when you are mistaken. It is honourable to do so.

While I value anonymity as a right, which is especially important in combating tyranny (e.g. anonymity for whistleblowers or members of marginalised groups), I prefer to be eponymous in my public appearances throughout. This works as an accountability structure for myself. I have to think things through before I commit to them. I must express myself in a manner that gets the point across effectively, without engendering misunderstandings. In other words, I cannot afford to fool around.

This accountability structure keeps me honest by maintaining a high standard in what I do; high relative to my ability. In this sense, it conforms with an ethos of sportspersonship: to be competitive in a way that brings out the best qualities in a person. If I am lazy about it, such as by writing a short piece that I did not think through, then I am debasing the standard, lowering it well below the champion grade I aspire to be at.

Competitiveness in the form of sportpersonship is not the same as belligerence. It is not a kind of aggression, nor is it directed towards other people. The athlete commits to the long-term goal of trying their best and knowing when they cannot compete anymore. It is not about the results either, as it pertains to the intent and overarching behavioural patterns. The intellectual shares those qualities with the sportsperson. They, too, must live up to the standard they have set for themselves.

As a thinker, writer, and speaker, I consider freedom of expression to be integral to an honest society. If we cannot point out that the emperor has no clothes, we are collectively dishonest and shall suffer from our coyness accordingly.

Every freedom entails responsibility. Those who choose to exercise their liberty must be prepared to deal with the consequences of their actions. The person who is consistently free is, ceteris paribus, the one who is responsible and resilient. So if, for instance, someone who publishes an article cannot tolerate the fact that certain people will disagree with it, this individual is not prepared to exercise their freedom. It does not mean that their freedom is forfeit, but only that they have more growing to do as a person.

Parrhesia acknowledges adversity as part of life. The diversity in nature is also expressed as a plurality of opinions. The notion that we can please everybody in some way is but an illusion. Each thesis has multiple, potentially conflicting, antitheses. For as long as we stand somewhere (thesis literally means “position”), we do it in contrast to others.

Adversity has an impersonal form as well. To write consistently, for example, you must show the courage and determination to push yourself out of whatever inert state you are in. You have to work hard. There is no faking it.

While the law stipulates the age of adulthood for all sorts of good practical reasons, we must remember that this is not the same as someone being mature. There are plenty of adults who lack maturity and whose behaviour is indistinguishable from that of a child. They do not assume responsibility and will not acknowledge that their choices have consequences. Maturity is about sticking to something, doing it in earnest, and dealing with its aftermath. This goes for private projects, life style decisions, work obligations, and relationships. Where there is freedom, there is responsibility.

There is this conventional wisdom in my country that “the army makes you a man” (conscription for males is mandatory). I believe this is not the case. The army forces you to conform with rules, but this does not make you a disciplined person. It does not mean that you can set your own rules and live in accordance with them and, by extension, it does not guarantee you have consistency in accomplishing your tasks. At best, the army can inspire a boy to become mature by having to deal with adversity away from the comforts of his home.

A more reliable mark of maturity is what a person does out of their own accord. When they commit to something they like and try to do it as best they can without excuses. It is not about some objective high score of who is the greatest of all time at said task, but only how sincere and consistent the person is in the pursuit of it.

Eponymity is not a precondition for self-actualisation. It is but one of the many ways one can hold their self accountable. There is no right or wrong in how people go about expressing their individuality, within the scope of the law and common sense. What matters is that we understand freedom in its totality as rights to act in certain ways and to deal with the concomitant phenomena. Absent that, we will remain frivolous in our conduct and childish in how we eschew responsibility.

Yesterday I finished work at 9 PM. I did a lot of manual labour during the day and then continued with some projects on the computer. After I was done with everything, I felt too tired to go for my nightly long walk with the dogs. Normally, those walks last an hour or so. They are shorter only if the weather conditions are unfavourable. But we always go, no matter what. Last night was especially hard though, so I allowed myself to take it easy by committing to a 10-minute walk instead. I wanted to do it for the dogs… We eventually walked for more than hour. The feeling of fatigue I had disappeared as soon as I warmed up.

This was not a surprise to me. There is a Greek saying that comes to us from antiquity, which states that “the start is the half of everything” (η αρχή είναι το ήμισυ του παντός). The idea is that when we set out to do something, the most difficult part is to make the initial commitment. Once we get in the flow, we develop momentum and can go all the way.

I think the tricky part is with how we manage our expectations about the kind of goal we have in mind when we start a project. If the goal is unrealistic, then the start will not amount to much. But if what we want is within our means, then we can maintain the motivation to make things happen.

The key in my case yesterday was the flexibility I demonstrated in setting a standard for myself. I believe I would not have left home had I insisted that the walk be an hour long. Ten minutes are easy for me, so lowering the target that much gave me no excuse to stay home. I knew this would be trivial and I intentionally challenged my sense of pride.

I discovered a variation on this theme a long time ago. Back then I was trying to “be productive”. Inspired by the Getting Things Done methodology, I would spell out all the subtasks of a project, have a highly detailed and prescriptive plan, and then try to do everything in the predetermined order. But I quickly realised this was not working for me: the sheer number of tasks combined with the rigidity of the agenda was forcing me into inaction. It was too intimidating to wrestle with that massive, cumbersome beast!

I thus learnt to focus on the main points and not record every piece of trivia. The list of total tasks was shorter, the sequence of foreseen events was more open-ended, and the work felt easier as a result. I would allow myself to discover the obvious subtasks through the process of mindful action.

Perhaps we demotivate ourselves when we make something bigger than it is. If I have a goal to “buy groceries from the local store”, I do not need to also spell out the implicit subtasks, such as “pick up your wallet”, “take your keys”, “make sure everything is okay at home”, “wear your shoes”, “buy 5 tomatoes and 10 onions”, and so on. These are rendering explicit patterns of mine and knowledge which are already well embedded in my conduct. I do not need to be reminded of them. If they appear on my task list, they crowd out the items I do need to remember. Thus they are producing noise and increasing the cognitive burden.

By simplifying tasks and not being a control freak, I put faith in my future self to (i) think critically, (ii) adapt to evolving states of affairs, and (iii) maintain a sense of agency. Whereas if I am micromanaging everything in the present, I am treating my future self as someone who is not reliable. And so, not only am I producing a seemingly gigantic list of superfluous tasks, I am also infantilising my future self. For me, this is disempowering.

The start being half of the total must then depend on the application of common sense. This is two-fold:

1. The goal is realisable. We set ourselves up to do something that we know is within our means or, in the case of ambitious targets, that is not too far away from our best performance.
2. We take it one step at a time instead of focusing on the whole project. This way, our sight is set on some smaller action that is manageable. The cumulative effect of those is the realisation of the project.

When we estimate our ability to finalise a project, we make self-evaluations both for the subtasks and for the whole project. I think all need to be realistic, though not necessarily perfectly certain. For as long as we have a solid plan, we can trust in our capacity to adapt. Our actions can thus be flexible as we acknowledge the fact that we often build the capacity to do what is necessary while doing it.

I had not built a house before setting up the hut. Yet I knew that I would get better at it while in the process of building it, so I did not let my initial evaluation intimidate me. There is room for growth. We have to be open to that possibility for it to be made manifest.

My walk last night reminded me of the latent power we have and how pushing ourselves ever so slightly does no harm. I could have convinced myself to stay home and chill. That would have been fine, anyway. Yet I opted for a compromise deal instead: to do something, even if not at the full intensity. The fact that I did go all the way is due to the lightness with which I was conducting myself: I had no expectation to do anything difficult. At the same time, I was allowing myself the chance to grow into the role, which is how I ended up doing the full hour.

I am happy with how things turned out. I continue with the same commitment and intensity.

There are two parts to this which contain my initial response and the follow-up to it.

All the quoted/indented parts are from my correspondent.

Part one

I know I should dig into and read through more of the articles on your website, but I’m reaching out for help—consider this an SOS!

I will try to help. The short answer is this: you must start small. The longer answer follows below.

I’m struggling with organizing my life and my stuff, while dealing with information overload and FOMO, and it’s exhausting desperately trying to organize the current mess before I can even get started getting things done. Sometimes it triggers my procrastination because I feel like I learn best when I’m organizing my mind, and then I’d fall into the rabbit hole.

[…]

I also want to log/plot relationships between things, make Farley files, find a way to organize and group web clippings and annotate them, and more. Coming up with good tags and learning how to manage tag relations or hierarchies and probably a glossary (or something like that) of tags to know what tag to look for seems like a big challenge. You wrote on your blog that there’s no right way of using org-mode and that I should start slow, but I’m not sure how exactly I should start and what path to take afterward. There are so many web pages, YouTube videos, and forum posts on this topic that it’s overwhelming not knowing how to start or what to focus on, and I’m worried about making mistakes that could snowball later. I don’t need perfection, just something flexible that I can adapt over time and change easily.

There is no productivity in a vacuum and, as such, there is no method that will work regardless of the specifics of the case. Here you are describing various tools, methods, and requirements or wishes, but you did not express what you are working towards. What is it you want to achieve? Can you spell this out with clarity and certainty?

Knowing what we want is not as easy as we might think it is. Yes, we have a general idea but elucidating it with precision is hard. Though trying to do that helps us understand our situation better, which practically means that we can separate the essential parts from the inessential ones.

My first suggestion to you, then, is to establish a clear goal. This has to be a tangible outcome of you producing something that matters beyond the confines of the productivity suite of tools. So “make Farley files” (I do not know what those are, by the way) is not a goal in this regard. A goal is something like “write a research paper about THING”, “publish a blog post on the THING”, “develop an Emacs package to do THING”, where THING is what you care about.

My next suggestion is to keep a sense of perspective. You are making it too difficult for yourself right now. Remember to take a step back and relax. Think about what is the worst thing that might happen if you are indeed missing out on whatever the tech hipsters are using these days. The answer is “nothing worthwhile”. There are more important things in life.

Please understand that we live in a world where hype is key to generate clicks, views, comments, likes, and, ultimately, money. “Hype” is a word that comes from “hyperbole”, the Greek word for “exaggeration”; the word for overdoing something. So be careful not to fall for the hype each time you find some new app or method.

The reason I am writing this is to encourage you to be more considerate. All that “organisation and productivity” business is more hype than substance. It also is unimportant in the grand scheme of your everyday experience. Try to not pay attention to the trends and keep things simple. We have reached this point in history after millennia of not having fancy apps. We can be productive without a lot of pampers. This whole notion that “yOu AbSoLuTeLy NeEd ThIs ApP” is a distraction you have to avoid.

Focus on yourself and be mindful of what you actually want (the substance, not the hype). If you are of the mindset that digital “productivity” is the most important thing and that you must not miss out on the coolest trends, then you are setting yourself up for failure. You are doing so because the stakes are now too high in your mind: “what if I pick the wrong app?” and “what if this methodology is not the right one?” and “how will I ever recover my productivity now that I went down this rabbit hole?”.

There are a million questions like these and they all are predicated on the presumption that “productivity”, in the form of some cool new app and/or method, is essential. It is not, so take it easy.

Now you are prepared for my third suggestion: it is not the tool that makes you productive, but your mindset and concomitant work ethic. You can be perfectly productive with pen and paper or even without those, depending on what we are talking about.

All apps, no matter how well thought out they are, are tools which do wonders in the right hands but otherwise are clumsy implements which inhibit those who do not know what to do with them.

Like with a sledgehammer or a pickaxe, if you do not know how to use the tool, you will severely injure yourself. With these digital products the damage comes in the form of anxiety and a sense of disempowerment.

I could tell you about Emacs, and Org, and Denote, and all their best friends, but this is not the way to go. I do not believe in the marketing gimmick of a “second brain” and, more importantly, I dismiss the lazy outlook of our era for doing something sophisticated in a “too long; didn’t read” kind of way. You cannot do anything noteworthy without hard work, so either you will not read and stay where you are, or you will put in the effort and take as much time as is necessary to get better.

There is no magic solution. We all have one brain that does the thinking and if we do not use it properly, no vaunted exomind will ever be a good enough arrangement for us. Of course, if you use the tools properly, then things change and a “second brain” starts to make sense. But you are not there yet (and once you are there, you will know not to be misled by such buzzwords).

My recommendation to you then is to forget about the advanced features of logging, plotting, linking, drawing, stamping, clipping, extracting, summarising, analysing, et cetera, and focus on the one and only basic thing that matters: you set a goal and you do it. If you cannot do this with consistency, then all that other stuff is just a glorified mini-game to make you feel better about the fact you are not actually doing what you are supposed to.

Please do not take my words personally. I am communicating to you in plain terms to focus your attention on the fundamentals. Work on those and master them. Once you have done that, then you can think about all the extras. And when that happens, you will be in a position of strength where you will (i) know what you need, (ii) are confident in your abilities, (iii) are in the flow of doing what you are meant to, (iv) have a clear goal that is realisable, and (v) have room for experimentation given that you can always fall back to the basics you are already an expert in.

If you must forgo the data you have accumulated in order to start small, then do it ruthlessly. Do not continue to carry it around as a burden: it will continue to weigh you down and make you suffer. Why harm yourself in this way?

Part two

I have a long list of such goals that I’ve built up over the years, such as learning different aspects of computers, like networking, or learning more about Linux and FOSS, or reading various articles on Wikipedia.

Sounds promising! Though note that this is the stage where you have accumulated a lot of information about those topics. Let us take Linux as an example: unless you are already using it, set a goal to switch to it in the near future. This involves concrete steps, such as:

• Find a distro that is good enough out-of-the-box to let you focus on what you need (e.g. Ubuntu or Linux Mint).

• Learn how to write an .iso file to a flash drive.

• Learn how to boot from this .iso file in order to eventually install the Linux distro on the computer.

• Start using Linux.

This brings another point about knowledge: it cannot be purely theoretical. You will never know Linux well enough if you do not experience it. When we are exposed to something, we understand it better in relation to ourselves. Through experimentation, else trial and error, we discover more of it and us. Eventually we form opinions backed by some personalised evidence.

All this does not require a sophisticated system of note-taking. Think of it more like a game. You set it up to run and then you play around with it. This is how I learnt Linux and Emacs, by the way.

For example, after noticing that your email client seems to break lines after a certain number of words or characters, I looked into it and ended up deep in the topic of optimal line length, how it’s related to the era of punch cards, and now I have several browser tabs open on that subject.

I understand this kind of curiosity because I have it as well. What I have learnt is that it is both a blessing and a curse: it drives you to learn more things and piece them together into greater systems, but it works counter to your reality as a human with limited time/resources.

Concretely, you cannot let your curiosity run rampant as it will definitely work against you: it will not let you focus on anything as you will always be chasing off the next thing that is remotely unfamiliar.

What I have mastered about myself is the ability to not go down rabbit holes. I know to appreciate what I have and to only explore a case in-depth only after I have estimated that it is part of what I can do with my available time and energy.

You can improve this skill as well. As with everything, you have to start small. Before doing something, ask yourself what I mentioned earlier: “what I am trying to achieve?”. If the answer is that you are simply curious, then this is not a good sign. Be consistent with yourself in asking this question and you will notice how the tasks that pass the test are actually not that many.

Remember that we are considering the case of eventually starting to do things. I am not arguing against curiosity in general. Once you are in the flow of achieving your goals, then you will have the requisite structure to be curious without undoing what you have.

When it comes to wanting a system or method of organization, I have two main goals. The first is to better understand, recall, and organize what I’ve learned. I want to take good notes that trigger my memory, something I can refer to whenever I need a review or when I’ve forgotten something. I also want to have a general overview and a mind map of my knowledge. The second goal is to create an organized archive of useful information based on what I already have.

Okay, this sounds more clear. Though it has to be couched in terms of the aforementioned. I think a system of note-taking and knowledge management is secondary and would thus encourage you to set it aside for the time being.

You already know that you can collect a lot of disparate data points. You have done this with many apps and on many topics. Finding yet another note-taking solution will not change this dynamic. And here is the trap people fall into. They think that there is some magical “one app to rule them all” and so they keep searching for it. There is no such thing though, so the vicious cycles invigorates itself.

Again, focus on the basics. Master the essentials and then you will know what you need as the next step.

[…] missing out on whatever the tech hipsters are using these days. > So be careful not to fall for the hype each time you find some new > app or method.

We have reached this point in history after millennia of not having fancy apps. We can be productive without a lot of pampers. This whole > notion that “yOu AbSoLuTeLy NeEd ThIs ApP” is a distraction you have > to avoid.

Your minimalist (?) philosophy resonates with me, and while I do enjoy experimenting with different apps and methods to find what works best, I think I’m not someone who gets caught up in trends. My focus is always more on self-improvement and efficiency.

Good! Then pick one app and stick with it. It does not matter which one it is, because it is not the app that makes you productive. Once you have the app, start with one goal, such as “use Linux” and make it happen. Do this with more realisable goals and make a habit of accomplishing what you have in mind. No more rabbit holes that lead to nowhere!

I’ve always been fascinated by the organization in encyclopedias and the work of people who created systems of naming or classifying things. Being organized and right to the point feels like an art form to me. If a book lacks this kind of “art,” even readability, I find it torturous to read.

All of this likely influences my desire to take the chaos in my mind and organize it into a neat, structured system—like a well-organized library, or even like the Lego analogy you mentioned on your blog. I admit it might sound a bit idealistic, but that’s the way I see it.

Being neat and tidy is fine. The question is practical though: where do we start from? And my answer to this is “start small”. Pick some small thing you can actually do and do it. Let the system emerge organically through your continuous efforts.

Right now you are an outsider to this endeavour. You are not practising the relevant skills and are only theorising about how you might like something. What you are missing is experience, which will immediately ground you in the specifics of what you can and cannot do. This goes back to my example with Linux: proceed to the next phase of actually committing to the project and realising it.

I know many productive and efficient people who aren’t like me in this regard. Their desks are always a mess, they probably lose things in that clutter and can’t find them when needed, yet they still get things done. They don’t care about the things that matter to me, and they’re not interested in the “art” I mentioned. Sometimes I wish I could be more like them, but then I’m reminded of how much I dislike not being “artistic.”

Each person has their own way of conceptualising their immediate milieu. There is no right or wrong here. What we all have in common though is limited resources and an embodied mind. We cannot afford to have a purely theoretical exposure to the world. Our reality puts us out there and forces us to make decisions. Time is not on our side, in the sense of mortality, but also in the sense of having only a few hours per day to carry out our activities. We eventually get tired and lose focus or motivation. As such, I think that all of us, despite our individuality, need to have a sense of the here-and-now, because it is the constant in our life.

Now that we’re on the topic of managing tasks and staying focused, I have to admit that one of my major goals is improving my time+task management. I do appreciate simplicity, and it all sounds simple in theory, but in practice, I often struggle with managing my time and concentration. It’s probably another rabbit hole, but without exploring it, how else am I supposed to learn ways to improve?

If by “managing time” you mean to keep track of it, then this is definitely a rabbit hole. Do not go there. Time management happens organically: we do something we like, which necessarily means we do not have enough resources for other activities. Every action is a trade-off and we decide which path to take.

Instead of focusing on the structural level, such as managing time, go back to the basics: pick something you want to do, do it, and forget about the time dimension. As you get in this flow of working, you will eventually establish patterns that will form a certain structure. You will be doing certain things and not others. Once you are competent in this regard, you will know if you actually need some time tracking app or not (I do not, for example).

[…] focus on the one and only basic thing that matters: you set a goal and you do it. If you cannot do this with consistency, then all > that other stuff is just a glorified mini-game to make you feel better about the fact you are not actually doing what you are > supposed to.

Agreed, but based on the goals I mentioned, how precise should the goals be defined, or how should they be divided into smaller sub-goals? What’s the best order to approach them in, and how many should I work on in parallel? How do I prioritize them? What if a new goal emerges from one that I’m already working on, like needing to learn something new while I’m learning something else? These questions might seem trivial, but they’re still something I find myself preoccupied with.

There is no formula here. It depends on the specifics of the case. Some tasks are more involved than others and have more prerequisites. Others are more straightforward. But if you overthink something, it will always become complex to the point where it is virtually impossible to do anything with it.

Check the scenario with Linux, for instance. There are only a few steps for you to start using it on a computer. Instead of writing all the sub-items down, start with those top-level items and work your way from one to the other. If there are sub-tasks, you will discover them along the way. But do not lose track of your goal: move to the next top-level item.

As you have noticed, I am repeating myself: start with the basics, engage with it instead of overthinking it, and remember that your time is limited.

Nights during the last quarter of the moon are dark. The temperature in the mountains drops to low levels no matter how warm it is during the day. Summertime usually lasts until mid-September here. It then gradually gets cooler, while the possibility of sporadic rainfall increases. Cyprus is fairly dry though. It is only during the winter when it rains a lot.

Living outside the confines of any built up area has brought me closer to the natural cycles. I notice the phases of the moon and the trajectory of the sun in the sky. They change throughout the year. What happens with regularity, for example, is that the full moon always rises from the east as soon as the sun sets. Perhaps this is a coincidence, but I have observed it consistently. It is beautiful.

I also notice how total daylight changes throughout the year. We are now well past the summer solstice, meaning that days are getting smaller until they reach their lowest point at the winter solstice. For my hut, this practically means that from around mid-October to mid-February, I have very limited exposure to direct sunlight. I switch off the desktop computer at around 14:00 hours and work on the laptop to prolong battery capacity until ~22:00. If I do not do that, I will run out of power early in the evening.

Me and the dogs go for a long walk in the morning and then at night. It does not matter if it is very dark outside, such as between the last quarter moon and the rise of the new moon. We still enjoy our little adventure. The air is cool, our pace is fast, and we remain alert. I find that this otherwise exhilarating experience relaxes me, even though it would seem odd to consider it a “relaxing moment” like, say, sitting on the sofa to watch TV (which I do not have, anyway).

So what is it that makes the venture outdoors relaxing? I think it has to do with the appeasement of the animal within. I know from my experience training/handling dogs that the most content and reliable animals are the ones that are given an outlet for their instincts: they need to run, sniff around, and, generally, keep their apex predator functions in good working condition. Dogs that are confined to tight spaces all day tend to have accumulated stress, are more aggressive, and less trustworthy. In short, the good dog is the naturally tired dog.

Humans are much closer to dogs and their wolf relatives than some are perhaps willing to admit. Like them, we are gregarious, tribalist, territorial, predatory, socially cooperative and competitive, as well as vainglorious. It is why in many situations homo homini lupus est (“human to humans wolf is”). We do have a more pronounced rational side, though the notion of human as a rational agent quickly falls apart as soon as we observe everyday in vivo human behaviour.

Perhaps, then, the wolf within us is not something to be feared or demonised but to be understood. We need action as our mind seeks to explore new vistas, either literally or through our imagination. For some, this is expressed as a physical impulse for adventure, while for others it is more intellectual. In my case, it is definitely both. I expend a lot of energy doing physically intense activities, yet I still need to satisfy my innate curiosity within the realm of concepts. To me, both are adventures of sorts which keep me calm, composed, and reliable.

Like the dogs that have an outlet for their ferocity, so do humans benefit from some degree of openendedness. Not too much to feel lost and insecure, but enough to appease the adventurer within. At a personal level, I find that pushing myself to new challenges—be it a hard day of physical labour or the elucidation of some concept (or usually both)—makes me more peaceful and, indeed, contemplative. If I am forced to stay in a small space for too long, I feel limited and ultimately disempowered. Perhaps this is why I could not tolerate a career in politics and the office life that goes with it. In which case, everything I experienced as a profound unsettlement is down to the disturbance of the wolf within.

To me, no amount of meditation or whatever spiritual practice is a substitute for openendedness. Like the apex predator, I need to put myself out there, to roam the wilds, as it were. The more I accomplish in the process, the greater my confidence is in my ability to take care of myself (and any others, by extension). Thus, the visceral fear of unsafety is kept in check and I can then focus on contributing to culture.

It may be that the suppression of the wild animal engenders an elusive uneasiness and concomitant lack of confidence which, in turn, produces a subtle yet persistent disturbance in the person’s mind. One may then be sad or somehow in need of a change of scenery, without realising why.

I am speculating rampantly here, though I can tell that when I rise to meet a challenge head on, I do it with intensity and alertness. There is neither complacency nor fear in those moments. I tap in to my potential and commit fully to the task at hand. This is because I am not trying to suppress the wolf within, but to instead transform its ruthlessness into a constructive force.

My nature is highly competitive, though this is only inward. I do not measure myself up to others. I simply try to push my own boundaries. If I can walk for one hour while talking philosophy, I want to reach a point where I can do this for two hours, and maybe three, and so on. There is no real target. The goal, or perhaps the precondition of my tranquil life, is to continuously find new frontiers; to howl in valleys I have not yet traversed.

I carry on with my work. There is no moment where I feel lazy about it. Every day I have the exuberance for yet more action. This wolf is not going to be tamed any time soon, I guess… So I conclude with this poem, which I will publish separately in the poems’ section of my website:

Man and wolf

When man and wolf are one
there is but lightness
Dark are the spaces
where individuality is suppressed