Why am I writing a blog? I don't know how we got here, to be honest. I have only a few comments on the productivity of this, mostly because I know that inspiration was the main factor. Reading well-written essays awakens a desire to write well, in the same way that watching LeBron James makes you think you can dunk (I'm 5' 5''). I've read and enjoyed a few pieces on Paul Graham's blog, but what truly inspired me was a peer at Hopkins. Not including their name because I'm not entirely sure they want more traffic. They may want to keep it on the down low. His posts demonstrated that blogging could be a tool for life documentation and a tool for creative exploration. No longer was blogging the prerogative of soccer moms attempting to sell their cookbook. I could do it too. I am a little weary of this blog becoming an insanely cringey in hindsight, but the only way to prevent that is to just be authentic. I hope, if you know me, that reading this blog will be like talking to me. A stream of consciousness sometimes, yes, but refined at other times too. Here are my ideas on why blogging:
It seems to me that fulfillment in life is directly proportional to the ratio of your production to your consumption. Imagine how you feel when you consume compulsively and excessively, (e.g social media, brownie brittle, others' time) and don't use, create, or produce anything in return. I don't know about you, but afterwards, I feel pretty crappy. In these moments, we become vegetative. We run into depression, obesity, loneliness. It almost seems like turning clear, while the information consume passes through us. My theory (backed up by mysticism) is that these feelings are a result of turning on autopilot, an essentially unconscious state. Life has little meaning when we exist to consume. It's dystopian and, to put it lightly, reminiscent of WALL-E.
Contrastingly, those who protect their brains from overconsumption and overstimulation, ask for very little, and perform selfless service or creative work feel more fulfilled than those who live for just themselves. It's in these moments that we feel *most alive*. Most conscious, most present, and most satisfied.
Creative effort stimulates this in particular. Authors, coders, architects, engineers -- they all derive this satisfaction from total involvement and completion of their work, despite the seemingly endless toil of any given project. Many love the feeling that, without them, this creation may never have existed. It's a part of you that now floats around in the universe, separate from the internal reality we spend most of our time in. It actually *exists*, and it exists *out there*! It doesn't even have to be a monumental work. It could be a nightly journal entry, or a paper airplane.
My hypothesis: the more you overpower your need to consume with a conscious effort to create, the more you feel fulfilled.
Under the hood, this is commenting on the relationship between selflessness and selfishness, egoless-ness and egoism, which, historically, has followed the same lines. Most people aren't one or the other, but act as a mixture of both.
This blog is my effort at improving that ratio. It's a new hobby, a way for me to document my life and bring a legacy into the world, instead of consuming YouTube shorts and gaslighting myself into thinking I'm better than TikTok users.
I have an issue of constantly wanting to do something monumental, completely revolutionary, and perfect to all standards. I want to seem smart, capable, and well-put together. Refined and intellectual, too, sometimes. I need to write perfectly, I need to learn perfectly, and I need to be perfect.
While I think controlled perfectionism is a remarkable strength, I've realized this mindset is severely limiting. Far too many times have I spent my valuable time analyzing the best path, and considering *what to do* instead of just *doing it*. Buried my face in the map and never took a step, if you catch my drift.
To rout this festering habit, I plan to attack it as powerfully I can: with contrived blog posts that a handful of friends will read only occasionally (and only after a conveniently-placed $5 bill)
Why not publish these blog posts on the vast internet? They could be entirely unedited and unrefined. Who's coming after me? I might get accidentally canceled, the cost is very little, and the benefit is immense. If I keep writing, the future of this website will be really fun to look through. I mean, when I'm rich and famous, my biography is practically going to write itself (I'm joking... or am I?). That's one of my main goals in life. Not to get rich or famous, but to collect as many crazy stories as I can. But more on that another time.
Like most things, I can make this an iterative process. Rather than getting it "right" the first time, I'll improve on consecutive posts as I go. This entire post, as of now, is a shitshow. I wrote a brief outline on the Commuter Rail this morning, but I'm finding myself on winding tangents I didn't intend to explore. Next time, I'll be sure to write a more comprehensive outline, and you, the reader, can find the difference. What does right mean anyway?
I'm sort of getting tired of writing lmao so I'm gonna make the next two sections a little bit shorter. These two sections were written on a different days than the first two sections, so there may be a slight deviation in tone. I read what I wrote before and it felt way too formal.
I'm writing a blog also because I firmly believe writing is an art form. Isn't it crazy how we can inscribe tiny inkblots onto refined tree pastes and somehow carry messages that reverberate through entire generations? And that's all because we placed the ink in the right order with a few convenient whitespaces. That's called *writing*, folks.
What I find terrifying is that authors begin their stories from nothing. They literally pull that shit out of thin air. How are you gonna go and write *Crime and Punishment* when the paper has not a single word on it? If you've ever opened a Google Doc in your life, you understand the visceral, heart-wiggling fear that *Untitled document* can evoke. Everyone on enjoys reminiscing about freeze pops and the gym-class multicolored parachute, but the true universal experience is facing the *Untitled* monster at 11:00 pm.
Sure, certain permutations of our inkblots are "correcter" than others because society decided the rules of grammar so. With the size of the dictionary, though, authors generally receive complete creative freedom to rearrange their letters. By authors, I'm really commenting on the established Greats of the literature Canon, but really, this idea extends to any booger over the age of ten. Once you figure out the right electrical signals to control a pencil, you unlock an entire new realm of existence.
When we write, we have a chance to play God a bit. Deciding not only what to write, but how to write, it is truly an amazing power. Authors in the past have used this privilege to embed vastly-complex societal commentary within the lines of ordinary parables. They've also used to it to create this art . Regardless, I'd like to use this blog to experiment with it as an art form.
I got so tired of writing lmao that I'm not even gonna write this section. The whole idea of this section was about how I wanted to use this blog as a way to hide some easter eggs and be funny. I guess you'll have to find the one I hid in here :)
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The point of this blog is to voice my thoughts on some ideas, and to also share what fascinates me. I'll occasionally post some interesting links that I've found as well. Essays, stories, puzzles, and just cool stuff to think about.
I'll leave you this time with David Foster Wallace, who in his 2005 commencement speech to Kenyon University explained my personal philosophy better than I could.
Join me next time on this futile adventure to learn as much as I can. To de-cloud and demystify as much of the map as possible. See you next time.
Collect more stories,
-VLV