Do we produce work just to keep busy? 

The act of doing puts us into a trance of forgetfulness of our inabilities to actually produce a work that challenges the current thinking and has the ability to stand the test of time. This is masked by the illusion of improvement which journey to reach level.

“I write every day for 4 hours, I’m bound to improve”

Improve because of how busy we are? By mindlessly pursuing the sensation of “busy” or to get a whiff of joy after the end of a tiring day where our day went by filling in countless pages of lies.

Without a goal or purpose, I lack clarity on why I do what I do. But then…

The existentialism of it all taps on my shoulder and informs me.

“When you think you have it all figured, that’s when you should know, you have nothing figured out”

Instead of going down the negativity spiral like before, my thoughts simmer down to a comfort of not knowing. To see our time here as a journey without GPS, as an arrival into a new city. Like the stories of Huckleberry Finn and The Odyssey and the countless road movies of self-discovery, it all boils down to…

“…experience what you don’t know.”

To let the city wash over what you were and to let it give you the opportunity to make you know yourself better, but never knowing at all. When you think you have it all figured out, that you know this city by heart, another city awaits you. As you discover that…

“… the more you know, the less you know.”

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