Foundation

- Rhapsody -

I’ve never felt this good about myself.

The changes have been drastic. The time in which they've occurred has been short.

No processed foods. Less white rice. More fruits and vegetables. Chicken and seafood. Red meat just once a week, if at all. Minimal alcohol consumption.

From barely touching the stove to cooking every night. I’d given up on being consistent with this. Too time-consuming. Wife too picky.

Turns out all I needed was a wok.

It feels guilty to say this but it’s like all I did was flip a switch. Basically, I bought some books and put into action what I read.

Why has it been so easy?

I've tried, and failed, many a time in many similar situations. Yet the fear of history repeating itself is practically nil.

What feels so different now?

Truth be told, it was a long road to get here.

I read Incerto again for the first time in many years. But it had never sunk in this deeply before. All of it felt both new and familiar.

I realized I had been using knowledge to fool myself. The more I knew, the more intelligence I thought I had. I had become the person Taleb had actually warned me not to become, someone who lacked the humility to admit he knew less than he did.

I was wrong about so many things.

What surprised me though, is that this revelation brought relief. I didn't feel like a failure any more, instead it felt like I was learning to pay attention. I yearned to investigate what else I had been wrong about, things like my health and my worldview.

This is the only plausible reason I can think of as to why the changes have been sticking, and why I've been so endlessly curious to see what other possibilities exist.

The seed was planted much earlier than this.

Before Incerto, I discovered that nothing had a larger influence on my writing than the books I read. By the time my reading habit solidified, I tried something ambitious.

I submerged myself in the works of one writer or author at a time. I had never done anything at this scale before. I read Bukowski, Didion, Knausgaard. Something strange happened after a few months. It felt less like reading and more like inhabiting a consciousness. I noticed why decisions were made rather than the lines that were written. Their questions became my own. Style, voice, and character all became secondary.

When I finally came up for air, my surroundings were the same but everything else was different.

What motivated me to do this?

Previously, I dedicated myself to the simple art of improving my writing. For all intents and purposes, I started at the bottom. Concerned myself at the level of sentence construction. Attempted to get my points across as clearly as possible. Forced myself to put down only words that mattered.

Where did this obsession come from?

I had Kasper for 17 years.

One day I saw he had gotten old, very old. The final chapter had arrived. I never saw it coming. I was forced to admit he wouldn't live forever. I found this almost impossible to accept, so it triggered a midlife crisis of sorts.

I started to take writing seriously. It was the only thing that was helping me to come to terms with the fact he wouldn't be around much longer. Once I committed to this, time couldn't move slowly enough. That last year went by in a flash, yet it meant more to me than the entire time I had him.

Than my entire life.

The end approached. I prepared to say goodbye. I said goodbye. He went away.

I missed him as soon as he left.

It almost feels like I've kept on writing to be able to share this with you. Yet I remain unsatisfied–I still can't quite find the right words to convey how important he was to me.

The more uncertain I am, the more I write.

One thing I can't deny is that my life has changed for the better since his passing. I was often fond of saying he left me better than he found me.

I'm not so sure this is a good thing any more.

I can't honestly say that I wouldn't trade it all away, just to have him back again.