trackstar195

This story is incredibly well done. I'm reading it with great interest.

Dear friends, I'm sad to report that, with a mere 3 weeks of training remaining, I was dropped from the Marine Corps Officer Candidates School. While, at the end, I was training at a level even with, or above, most other candidates, my performances in the beginning suffered greatly from an overall lack of military knowledge and familiarity, and my overall progress, therefore, was unsatisfactory. While this occurrence has been incredibly disappointing, I thank those special few for their unwavering support. I took a risk on something I was passionate about and on something I thought I could contribute meaningfully to. I worked harder than I ever knew I could, and achieved things I never thought possible. In my heart, there is no regret, only deep, painful disappointment. I would not have pursued the military if I didn't honestly believe it was the right thing for me to do; I have always been chiefly concerned with living a moral and meaningful life, and I thought that devoting myself to the military's cause of righteousness was the best way to do this. Failure is never pleasant, but it is always what you make of a defeat that decides your future. Despite the discouraging result, in a way I am thankful. I have learned that, no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there's something stronger, pushing right back. Perhaps most importantly though, this experience has shown me that, no matter what, as long as I have virtue and determination, the fight isn't over.

These kinds of messages have always been a bit confusing to me. As I'm sure we've all noticed, in this video, there is a massive equivocation of the concept of 'old' between the elderly folks and the younger group. I almost want to contend that they really aren't talking about the same thing at all, and that there are two, completely unrelated, discussions happening in the video. But even if we give the video the benefit of the doubt and treat the two conversations as congruent, it still leaves us in a dubious position. I think what the video neglects to touch on is that growing older, for 'young' people, can be a psychologically/philosophically arduous journey…perhaps even more turbulent than the current plight of those elderly folks. Additionally, as a side note, this observation about 'old' isn't unique. I hear things like this all the time from self-righteous, sanctimonious people: 'how can you be complaining about hunger or pain when you're not living in South Sudan?!' (hyperbolized for emphasis). Please. Maybe someone can enlighten me here, but I'm not sure why my pain or hunger ought to be any less just because someone else is suffering more. It's not either/or. We can feel pain or hunger (or old, in this case) and simultaneously acknowledge those that are in more pain, or hungrier, or older. The video seems to indicate that, unless you're on the threshold of old-aged death, you have no right to any sort of potentially meaningful self reflection.

I prefer 'English football' (hereafter referred to as 'soccer'). I have a deep appreciation for the beauty of movement and athleticism, and some of the most profound examples of this have been in soccer. Besides my beloved Olympique Lyonnais (whom I think play a beautiful brand of soccer), I have a great respect for any team that makes the sport sexy: Ajax in the 70s, Red Star Belgrade in the early 90s, and Nottingham Forest in the late 70s come to mind. Aside from exhibiting the stunning potential of the human body, soccer (and likely sport, in general) displays a sort of simplistic morality that I find attractive...the principle of sticking up for your friends, and of valuing bravery and fair play. After many years during which I saw and studied many things, what I know most surely about morality and the duty of man I owe to sport and learned playing soccer.

This is a personal response. Education goes deep with people, and after all of the formal training I've had in careful, rigorous philosophical argumentation, I don't have any arguments or hard evidence for the worth of education; I just have a hodgepodge of experiences and feelings and thoughts and circumstances and guesses and doubts and fears and beautiful things and pain and suffering and stories of fortune and hope. After graduating at the top of my high school class, I was accepted to two top ivy league schools, and a slew of other elite east coast colleges. However, despite their histories and international reputations, the colleges seemed ordinary. What I wanted was a community that desperately--as if its life depended on it--sought out Truth and Beauty, a community that like Diogenes forsook sleep and comfort for the hope that holding up the lantern in just one more dark corner might reveal profound meaning. I met Professor Brouwer at Wabash, and I decided to attend. In the Symposium, Alcibiades reports that Socrates is the only man in the world who made him feel shame. Early at Wabash I was pulled between majoring in French or in Philosophy and reporting to Mark Brouwer one afternoon on the third floor of Center Hall that, alas I had decided to major in French, I was not met with a word but with a scoff. And so it was that I decided to double major in Philosophy. But that puts the matter plainly and misleads. The truth is that I was bitten by worse than a viper in the place most vulnerable: bitten and struck by philosophy in my soul. Not only by the words on the page, but by the man in whom those words became flesh. Throughout my undergraduate career, he poured his time and effort into me, buckets full of both, in a mentorship the likes of which I don't expect to see again until kingdom come. To put it all in a word, I am who I am because of Mark Brouwer. He shaped my character, my ethos. What more can one say? I am currently pursuing a graduate degree in Philosophy, and I am beginning to see that my struggle with coming to terms with academia parallels my struggles with religion. For Augustine, becoming Catholic was a struggle where even the self becomes a community: "My inner self was a house divided against itself." I am not Catholic in some static, fixed sense of being. I cannot be Catholic, I can only become Catholic. Deep in some far off corner of my mind, I know that I live and die for philosophy...that philosophy, for me, is a continuous sense of becoming and knowing and teaching and understanding. New question: Why do we want to become educated? It's a mystery, that's why.

"The First Man," by Albert Camus. This is a reread, and a work I always return to when I'm in need of emotional or philosophical guidance. Forget Boethius, forget Plato, even forget Aquinas. This is it. While I have a deep appreciation for existentialist philosophy, Camus is somehow different; perhaps it was the Algerian sun, or the modest origins. I've read most of Camus' impressive oeuvre, but as I read "The First Man," my admiration for him was profoundly renewed. First, there is his easy command over the art of writing, which is, in itself, worthy of praise and veneration. The words flow and dance on the page. However, this pales in comparison to the real gem that lies inside this work: the truly amazing love song to his mother, helpless and limited as she was. For me, this is one of the great love stories of modern literature. Incomplete though it may be, it truly is a stunning achievement. "…All that was left was this anguished heart, eager to live, rebelling against the deadly order of the world that had been with him for forty years, and still struggling against the wall that separated him from the secret of all life, wanting to go farther, to go beyond, and to discover, discover before dying, discover at last in order to be, just once to be, for a single second, but forever."

I'm not sure how someone finds the strength to write a piece like this. Truly a marvel of delicacy: stunningly sensitive, poignant, and heartbreaking, all at once.

Turning down Harvard.

"After the Storm" by Mumford and Sons

What a beautiful and important piece of work. So much life lived, and so much love. I'm emotionally exhausted, but what a ride it has been. Life is not pure calculations, a simple algorithm of utility...sometimes it's a question of what makes the Human heart beat. Thank you, so very much.

I'm really confused about what marriage has to do with morality...

Hmm. There's a lot to like about this story, but I found myself conflicted throughout. I became immediately attached to the narrator and Luke, and secondarily with Jase and Eddie. I grew extremely tired of Aaron in the beginning (and throughout). I also didn't care much for Seth. Maybe this is just because I desperately was hoping for Luke and Rory to be together (although I'm aware of the risks this potential relationship would have created.) So, I obviously must praise you for creating so much depth and likability with these characters. I kept waiting for Rory and Luke to develop into...something, and must declare myself disappointed when this didn't materialize. Maybe this was just unrealistic wishful thinking, but whatever. I really enjoyed the insights into life provided here. I don't know if it was unintentional, but this story is incredibly existential and is oozing with issues of morality and the question of how to live a good life. As stories on this site often do, I was reflecting on my own life throughout reading this. I was particularly affected during the discussion of life's changes ("...But things changed. They always changed. It was just a matter of whether or not I was there to be a part of it...") I want to especially praise you for this part as I felt it was extremely well done. So, I am conflicted and disappointed, but I also recognize a quality story and also realize that perhaps the reason I feel a sense of disappointment is a tribute to the story's author for making me become so attached to the story. Well done.

Field of Dreams Fox and the Hound Murderball

Little old, but me