I love music. Have I mentioned that before? It seems like no matter my mood and no matter what emotions are plaguing me, there’s a song for that. I love walking around campus with my earbuds in and my iPod on. Somehow tuning out the world to my own personal soundtrack makes the world open up: I see details I wouldn’t normally see, I get inspired in ways I wouldn’t if I just walked normally, listening to the wind.
Songs inspire me. They narrate my life. And occasionally I find a song that resonates with me so perfectly for a time I play it on repeat until the words are burned in my cochleas like the frozen waves of arctic oceans. What better way can I show my love and appreciation for these songs and the artists that made them than by writing about them?
It’s been nearly a year to the day since I wrote my very first post about the Pirkei Avot, and I refer anyone new to the series to that post. It’s a good start, and I promise you, it’s the only one I think you should read to get introduced to the whole thing (although my last one is also well worth the word court).
So here I am again. I was in services this morning for our teacher’s appreciation Shabbat and since I was there a few minutes early, I decided I’d read ahead. Obviously you can see it’s now past midnight, so I’ve had plenty of time to let this story steep. And the truth is, I’ve needed every minute of it. And probably then some, too.
So without any further ado… Press the button below to follow me on this next (and I assure you, rather exciting) step on my journey through the so-called Ethics of the Fathers.
I was going to write a sucky-feeling NaNoMonday yesterday, not because NaNoWriMo sucks, but because I felt rather sucky. Heart broken twice in one weak? Seemed like a new record. Then things actually improved drastically yesterday and I felt sucky no longer. So today I was going to write an honorary NaNoTuesday, but then I realised something amazing.
This is my one hundredth blog post.
I can’t believe I’ve already got ninety-nine under my belt. I had to check at first to make sure none of the drafts I’ve written (which are mostly notes to myself containing websites or stories to read) weren’t included in that number, and they weren’t. So. Yeah. This demands something special.
Maybe I’m a writer and it’s just how we think. Maybe I’m a minority and it’s how we survive. Or maybe it’s the weather and just how we stay alive. But whatever the reason, whatever the cause, I feel like fighting.
It might seem an odd expression for me to say, so normally fond of peace as I am, but sometimes it takes a fighting soul to shove others into action. Sometimes we call this violence or aggression. But sometimes we call it passion and–
It’s only been in these past four years that I consider the person I am today to have become defined. Certainly, the past twelve or sixteen months have been paramount, but I can trace my way back four years to truly see the seeds of my soul starting to blossom. My life until that point had been critical nonetheless, the insemination of the ideal, the incubation of my coming identity, but in the end they have only been my foundation, not my superstructure. Now, however, with the foundation finally finished, I can at last begin to assume my truest self, my ultimatum, my ultima.