What I Think About

I'm not sure what I think about anymore.

Its interesting to have let go of graduate school ambitions and to still feel inclined towards reflection and philosophy. I found it comforting when Bloom told me in Love & Friendship that philosophizing was a solitary quest. It obviously has to be.

It's just odd to me that there is such an institutional structure that structures philosophy. It has become a career path, a way to make a living.

John Maus said in an interview that he doesn't think we should make our living by being musicians, that the threat/reward of money threatened something about artistic integrity. I wonder the same things about the universities. Is 'publish or perish' really a good model for producing sound scholarship? So I have my doubts about the universities, their goodness, their ability to provide philosophy with an adequate home.

The problem with no being involved with the universities, however, is that I can't do my reading and writing with a ton of rigor. I have to work full time! I have a job where I'm just scraping by, having friends, trying to date, trying to live.

Why do I have to be poor and strapped for time if I want to be scholarly? Eh, my professor pointed out a long time ago that there is a reason that monks used to be scholars. It takes time! It takes a lot of time! Building a certain cast of mind, becoming a certain way.

That, perhaps, is the scariest thing, and the thing I think about and fear the most. I fear that I won't be able to continue thinking in these ways. I've worked hard to learn about philosophy, to learn about myself. I've become something different because of the work I've done. I can tell. So the kind of person that I've made myself into is directly related to the way I've learn to think through my reading and writing. Now I have to keep thinking if I want to stay who I am.

There is no telling what kinds of things I will think in the future, what kind of person I'll be. But I want to continue to be thoughtful and reflective. I see no reason why I shouldn't continue to reflect in the future.

It's just hard not having any way for it to be a source of identity. I think, I read, I write. Yet I have no institutional support in this task.

Who knows what I think about.

I know what I've been reading.

Joyce.

Collingwood.

Plato.

So on so on so on.

I will think more.