Always Relative

The one bad thing about a long-running (and generally inconsistent) blog is the wealth of past posts which remain semi-permanently buried in the intricate tubings of the intarwebs. Lost to most, they are nevertheless uncover-able by the avid researcher/determined stalker/nostalgic author. Of the aforementioned categories, I have had the distinct pleasure of being all three at one point or another in my career. In truth, this ease of looking-back is only a bad thing for the last of the three; the other two probably find those past entries quite helpful in their own way.

Nostalgia is a dangerous thing however, and in most cases is best avoided. One risks looking back on things which no longer are, and wishing for things which never were. Not that the past is such a terrible thing, but to sacrifice present experience for past remembrances and/or fantasies risks creating a future when such activities are all which fill one's days and nights. Truth be told, "moving on" in no way implies that anything was wrong with the past; one "moves on" because nothing is wrong with the present, yet. Failure to "move on" rectifies a situation that hardly needs rectifying, thus creating problems where there were none to begin with.

Or is that the case at all? Peter Singer once raised the example of a man who comes across a child drowning in a lake; his purpose was to describe a situation where it was plainly obvious that the man had a moral obligation to save the child, since the benefits of him doing so (i.e. saving an innocent life) far outweighed the costs (i.e. getting his clothes wet, possibly catching cold, ruining his iPhone, etc.). Ok. Now imagine the world 5 minutes after the man first comes upon the child; during this period of indecision as he pondered his moral obligations, the child has since drowned. Maybe the man should just "move on?"

For indeed, nothing is left to be done, nothing can save the child, and no amount of guilt or recrimination will redeem the man. What possible purpose could it serve for this man to dwell on the child's death? One may suggest that such reflection will lead the man to recognize similar situations in the future and act accordingly then, but such an improvement to his character (if it can be called that) requires not a lengthy period of self-blame or torment. He may simply acknowledge to himself that should he come upon struggling children whose lives he can save with simple actions on his part, he will endeavor to do so efficiently, confidently, and without delay in the future.

But were this man to keep a blog of his daily thoughts, we may not find it strange if he were often to return to that fateful day and read and reread his thoughts, his torments, his nightmares that night after he returned home. We would likely find sympathy in our hearts for this troubled man, and not begrudge him this indulgence. For it is like watching a train-wreck as the saying goes; one cannot avert one's eyes. And he cannot forget, nor can he avoid poking that sore, open wound, the deepest of cuts upon his heart, which he keeps fresh each day, week, or month, as he reopens the torn flesh and feels the pain anew.


It is a delicate balance that must be struck. Much like a child who learns to ride a bicycle, who grows into an adult, embarrassed at the occasional and perhaps accidental falls, we learn to balance our way through the intricate tubings of life. And when we fall off that bicycle, it is not that we have forgotten how to ride which prevents us from getting back up immediately, it is that we fear another fall. The choice then, is between lying broken and bloodied on the ground with our vehicle lying askance and wheels spinning idly, or to right the thing, pick ourselves up, and ride on. This latter choice carries with it the burden of a distinct risk of future failure; the former, certain defeat.

"Audentes fortuna juvat," as they say.

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There's a green poker chip, with a design of the 6 different faces of a die along the rims of the chip's two faces, lying next to a wooden bench on the carpet in this computer cluster. I have nary a clue as to its origins, lying as it is in such an ill-suited location. Perhaps it is a sign.