Open Skies
2026-05-23
You know, writing is a lot better at ending wars than starting them.
I think about great treaties, speeches, and art that takes us out of the horrors we can find ourselves taking part in—whether that be in our personal lives or from afar—and so many of those things can come to an end with well-crafted words. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it? So much of what we want out of writing these days boils down to knowledge or escapism, but where's the writing that shines because of its sincerity in the face of the things in life that scare us the most? I feel there's a desire for that kind of work, but it's so much harder to come by these days; often in literary magazines, I find there's a certain performative nature in them. Of course, some degree of performance is necessary to engage readers, but I've found their essence misses the proverbial mark for me. Much of it feels self-congratulatory, or talks around in circles. There's fair intrigue in much of it, but the emotive spark is tough to conjure. Much of that spark gets lost in revision, I think. Revision, when done right, can elevate a work to something truly revolutionary. Often, this is done with a team of talented writers who have a chemistry that can't be completely replicated. When a great piece of media comes out, it's tough to keep that spark alive for a long time, and I think we all feel exhausted whenever too much juice tries to get squeezed.
I've neglected writing here these past few days. I've mostly been busy socializing IRL and in Totally Safe Internet Spaces, engrossed in contemplation, sleeping, and watching Polar Bear Cafe. Still, the itch to write has been underpinning all of that, and my neglecting of this practice makes me carry a certain weight I can't quite pin down. There's importance in having that space, to live life so that I can better write about it; but this practice carries something in me deeper than any other activity these days. These moments where I can sit down, craft these sentences, and relinquish them into the Beast are a release that nothing else really quite gives me. I can have a great line, keep it in my head, and maybe write it down and put it somewhere. I neglect to keep my pocket notebook full of zingers, but that's life with darting focus; it's a mandala of sorts anyway.
But still, this little platform is nice for me and lets me at least somewhat feel like a cultural curator. It's cool, being able to speak things into life, albeit behind a screen. That's why I like words, though. They leave so much more to the imagination, don't they? Remember when people had more active imaginations? These days, it's a more passive pursuit to yearn, and while that probably makes the world safer—it can be a gross engine for regret. I never want to wonder "What if?" I want to have done it, failed or succeeded, and cash my chips however short the stack. I guess for me as a young contemplative man, the folly I struggle with is more in the question of "What?" rather than "What if?" It's tough to finish that decisively, especially when there's always so much input to consider. It's a strange sea to get lost in, but it's one that leads me to interesting places, regardless of the setting I find them in.
I love exercising my brain, but it can get to a point where it overwhelms me; it especially overwhelms other people sometimes. I'm sorry if I overwhelm you. It'll be okay, I promise. That spirit of peace is a tough thing to acquire, and it's something that most of us, I think, will only experience in short bursts. The only thing I can say is to not ask too much of life, because there's so much more that lies ahead of our repose. I hope one day you'll find that thing you're looking for, and that when whatever tree you're planting finally bears its fruits, they'll be ripe enough to share. Anyway, that yearning is a special thing. It keeps us humble, hopefully; the line between desire and despair constantly blurs, but the act of discerning it with a clear heart and an open mind is the real battle we all have to fight. Maybe it's not in a war, maybe it's not this grand act of resistance against evil. All it really is—it's just a choice to maintain love. Every day, regardless of who hurts you, whatever storm might come our way. It's all a part of something greater, really.
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