Writing Without a Why
Tomorrow’s events:
Stoic Breath w/ Steve Beattie. Everyday Sunday @ 10:00 AM ET. RSVP here.
Getting Senseful With the Steward w/ Peter Limberg. November 8th @ 12:00 PM ET. RSVP here.
Empathy Circle Practice w/ Edwin Rutsch. Every Second Sunday @ 3:30 PM ET. RSVP here. 120 mins.
The Metagame Mastermind: DIY Ecology of Games Edition w/ Peter Limberg. November 8th @ 6:00 PM ET. RSVP here.
Flowing With Unknowingness w/ Tyson Wagner. Every Sunday @ 8:30 PM ET. RSVP here. 60 mins.
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November 7, 2020
I disabled the comments and likes section for the Substack emails. The reason: I was getting needy.
I noticed some entries were getting more attention than others. For instance, some of my previous entries received more likes than the latest ones. Some of those well-liked entries were: fears of not being loved because of my Machiavellian talent stack, the last therapy session I had with Jordan Peterson, getting possessed by demons, and my musings about fuck bodies and holy sluts.
It makes sense why these received more likes, because I do think the content was more juicy and rich than the recent journal entries I've written, and I did feel like I was “on fire” while writing them. I have been writing with the same spirit throughout all the entries though, even though the content, styles and energies have been different.
Seeing the likes go down did throw me off. Why is this? Egoic capture I think. Seeing more likes did give me a mini egoic high, which was barely discernible to me, but it did have influence, as for a brief moment it made me not want to write here anymore.
I imagine this decision will not spark a backlash like disabling the YouTube comments did, as not many people were using these features anyway. I also got a sense of excitement with this move, because a certain feel has returned, and the feel was similar to when I first started writing these letters on the Letter platform.
I wrote my first 93 letters there, and I would still be writing on that platform if it was not for their infinite scroll design, which made it difficult for others to read. There was a refreshingly beautiful feeling about writing on Letter, as it did really make me feel like I was writing letters to myself, or ta eis heauton.
A part of me is self-critical on my decision of disabling the likes feature here, and that part is saying: are you seriously denying yourself the opportunity to practice your Stoicism bro? C’mon dude, a number beside a little red heart icon is really throwing you off your serenity game?! This is embarrassing.
Maybe this self-criticism is right, and maybe it is wise to keep the likes and comments on, as it does give me data to reflect on, e.g. which posts resonate with others. That being said, it is hard to tease out what exactly resonated, and with whom. Moreover, the tendency to over-rely on data interpretations has the potential to bastardize reality.
Most importantly though, I am not egoic enough to think I am above getting egoically captured by a seemingly innocent thing like a little red heart icon. Given this, I sense disabling the Substack comments is a wise “safe-to-fail game” for me to play for the indefinite future, and I will be nimble in witnessing what emerges from it.
All of these meta-journalling considerations do make me ask myself the following question once again: why am I writing here?
When I last mused on this in a May 28th entry I wrote:
On the surface, my professed reason—or maybe the propositional pretense—for writing is that I am engaging in a Stoic practice of writing to oneself. This was inspired by Marcus Aurelius. The idea is that writing to myself is a psychotechnology that helps with self-transformation.
I went on to tease out other reasons in that entry, such as writing so the “truth bleeds out,” modelling truthfulness for others, and experiencing joy from the act of writing. I’d also add reflecting on The Stoa as another reason, and how engaging in ta eis heauton is helping me become more virtuous, which for me is the same thing as getting in the right relationship with the daemon.
This does not feel like enough though. I want another reason. A more powerful one. I want a reason that provides me a guarantee. When I feel into the reason behind this desire for a guarantee the following thought comes up: I am getting needy.
I am going to rest into the following reality: I do not know why I am really writing here, and maybe I do not need to know why.
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