As always, trying to hold things and self together; trying to make sense of life and self. Contemplative thinking, always such a force in my life. Always has been, as I reflect. Always there seems to be an urge to write, to express. You'd think that by a certain age of maturity these things would be well figured out and grounded to satisfaction, but, no. Why not? Some folks seem so satisfied. There are so many elements and aspects to life. What elements and aspects account for these urges to think and write; contemplate and scribble? What are the elements and aspects of life that account for interests, enthusiasm, eccentricity, joy and happiness, anger, dread and sorrow? What accounts for the urge to blog as opposed to "document"; to write as opposed to talk? Its Friday night and very dark and quite here. The music on the radio is good, real good (hey, they're -KAXE- playing Janice Joplin again); a beer is well-deserved now. I think its time to essay. To be honest the foregoing came in the course of journalling at http://pdlefebvre.livejournal.com/ .
Now, even as I set about trying to essay the matters raised here, I first must grapple just a bit with the issue of blogging. I know from what I hear and what I read at the likes of Technorati that there are millions of blogs and more coming by the minute. There are literally only two that I try to keep up with, and both are literary, each with their own emphasis. Beyond that, reading blogs in the way that I sense some folks do, in a way that I sense we're often encouraged to do, is way beyond me. Where would the time come from? I get hopeful -as I am right now- that my life will even out enough to allow me to sort and then stick with some worthy blogs. But see, they would have to be worthy. Worthy of what? What would constitute worthiness? I suspect that there are probably plenty out there that are enlightening.
So if I have that notion about blogging, why am I here doing this? I believe that I have three reasons for being here: I want to essay and I'm resolved that being published is probably more work than I want to do; I have some hope that I'll make a contribution to life; and I hope too that my posterity, especially the grandchildren -and theirs?- will be better able to account for that old eccentric. In these reasons are my satisfactions. And if I couldn't blog would I then be dissatisfied? I don't know, perhaps. I contend that that is a universal question -too often unasked- for most people regarding many things of life. Is satisfaction the measure? Yes.
And that takes me into the global perspective in answer to the questions laid out at the beginning. Easy enough to say, the answer is in nature and nurture. Nature has first say, and today though we contend, nature has last say. In between, nurture imposes a convoluted, complicated influence. Nature provides us an evolved -evolving- hardwire system by way of our muscular-skeletal-neurological system. Nurture provides us with the means to develop and care for the body. Nurture brings us culture. The face of our nature and nurture, that which we show the world, that with which we engage the world is our personality.
Our personality, structured of elements and aspects, is given to us by the interelationship of nature and nurture for us to complete as we ask and face those universal questions. As we encounter the demands of daily life it is the structure of our personality that securely guides us to the greatest satisfaction of the moment. Satisfied, we move on; dissatisfied, we grapple.
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