What a week! Democracy died and my agnosticism took a giant step closer to atheism.
My perspective shifted, like it does when the rug is yanked out from beneath your feet and you’re lying flat on your back on the floor.
I imagine Thoreau felt likewise verklempt when he left society to be alone at Walden to figure shit out.
This is what he came up with:
We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us even in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavour. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.
Thoreau’s belief in self-generated transformative change feels remote as 1854 Walden, but here I am, awake and waiting for the sun to rise.
Words to pick ourselves up and carry on! Thank you, Laura. To begin, I think I will reread On Walden Pond.
To affect the quality of the day. I can start recovering from the heartbreak by remembering that. Thanks, dear.