Master of One

There's something I noticed just now, while watching Louis CK's latest comedy special. It wasn't anything in particular about his act that triggered the realization, it was more of an idle happening that happened to coincide with my watching.

In order for anything to have coherence, meaning, a semblance of form, it must be extended out to the point where it can look back in on itself. I'll try to explain what I mean, but I might fall short - if I can't hold onto the idea long enough for it to become self reflexive. When I was younger and an idea or feeling would come to me, I would grab it and take it to its logical end, assessing all angles; skipping from philosophical stone to stone in a wide arc, leaping out from and then back to shore. My ability to ride a thought to its conclusion was formidable. As I've gotten older I notice my grasp has become weaker, my endurance strained. Now I get out of breath as I struggle to chase a thought in a straight line.

I don't think this is something that's unique though. Time, and its passing, has a way of lending itself to erosion. The once clearly distinguishable synaptic footpaths of my mind have become less traveled, succumbed to dense overgrowth and heavy brush. This is an eventuality of age, societal pressures and expectations, productivity. We are encouraged to specialize, to serve a specific purpose, to do something and do it well. The phrase "jack of all trades" is often followed by its pejorative counter phrase: master of none. We actively seek out mastery, excellence, the ability to discover and refine something inside ourselves that we believe we can do better than anyone else: to be the best we can be. This notion becomes integral to our sense of identity, of personality, and in order to properly cultivate whatever distinct speciality we think we have been bestowed requires a dangerous kind of single-mindedness - a narrowing of vision.

The longer we are alive the more adept we become at not only rationalizing the decisions we've made, but also at re-aggrandizing our petty successes and failures, making steeples of mountains and molehills alike, placing them corner to corner in neat little rows and then hoisting them like flags from the fleshy ramparts of our skull-sized kingdoms. We come to know ourselves through those persistent narrations that whisper to us from inside our pillowcases, murmuring to us as we lie awake at night, selecting bits and pieces to emphasize just enough to confuse, so that we're almost always one step behind our motivations, penning them and reading them after the fact, if at all.

Eschew the things that discourage or distract you from pursuing thoughts and ideas. Let imagination, passion, and intrigue guide you. We should all be philosophical hang-gliders, dashing madly toward the stony cliff edge and leaping into the vagarious arms of thought, trusting that our thirst and foolish hopefulness will keep us afloat.