Where is the line between wanting to be more than who we are and being pretentious? Perhaps it’s in being aware that there is a difference? That is, the pretentious man thinks what he fancies himself to be is who he really is—and more importantly, how he thinks others see him—while the genuine man knows he still has a ways to go? But isn’t this too a kind of pretension?
It’s hard to shake this feeling when I reread my posts, this tension. Each piece fills me, in turns, with pleasure and a kind of mild revolt. What does it look like to be genuine?
Could it be that the whole idea of growth carries with it this farce, this illusion of movement? That with each installment, each renewed application, we move further along an imaginary line toward an equally imaginary goal? Maybe the Daoists have it right, that what really matters is to be present, to be open.
This is as close as I am willing to come to a resolution for the new year.