I am reminded
I am reminded recently of why it is I chose not to be an academic. My professors would always say, “Come this way,” philosophy, psychology, sociology, literature. ”Be one of us.” While others have a knack for other things, I have always had a knack for ideas. I enjoy them, take pleasure in them, like to fold and unfold them, straighten their seams. But I quickly saw, over there in academia, that ego was spread thick like–like, uh, butter on a baby’s toast–and so much of what could have been work toward the refinement of understanding, the articulation of experience and meaning, was, for lack of a better term, a pissing match. Something like football, but with words. That was not for me; I am more often than not simply bored by the demands of my own ego, how far can I pee? So what! Mercifully, out here in life, I rarely find people arguing with ideas for the sake of ideas, most often discussion is fiercely rooted in a concrete reality that will have an impact on day-to-day life, theirs or someone’s they know. But when the argument is not so related, it becomes, to me at least, in my current configuration of self, unreal and uninteresting: while it is all well and good to twist the words and the concepts, I’m more interested, lately, in somewhat more utilitarian uses of the mind.
