this is what I imagined when I read this (I know you’re referencing my pfp lmao)

this is an indulgence. it seems that perhaps I am not doing the work. perhaps. or I have placed myself in a disadvantageous position for doing work.

this revealed itself to me in a way that I could articulate sometime between the ages of 23-26, I believe. each mantra is a simple truth, a soundless forest lakeside in the eye of a storm. a reflection, a mirror. a reminder of the building blocks of our shared reality.

it revealed itself to me in everything. first, in trivialities - the minutiae of building a lego set, the gratification of watching a piece you had mindlessly placed earlier in the build connect to an additional module, thereby transforming its purpose and your understanding of it.

later, it was revealed in our history. centuries of human records, experiences, knowledge. the agonizingly slow pace of erosion. the growth of the most gargantuan trees known to man. it is a deceptively important process, the culmination of time and effort the likes of which a single human may be unable to quantify and therefore properly appreciate. the research and records themselves, a testament to small actions that produce a larger result.

and later again, and most impactfully, it revealed itself to me in people. myself, others. friends, strangers in passing. their love, passion, habits, routines. all of these, the result of innumerable thoughts, feelings, experiences, joys, heartbreaks, traumas, bonds, trials, and tribulations. and all of those things, dictated by the people who came before, and taught, shared, stole, or broke, and those forefathers' painfully and incomprehensibly unique lives, and on, and on, and on. a perpetual rhythm of trial and error. truly, everything we have presently is built on the backs of every human being that came before, no?

I wield the record, therefore I spin it. I field my time, wherefore I gift it. I yield my life, ergo it’s gifted.