jer979Purpose Struggle
Yesterday, I decided that my blogging career should come to an end. I was doing myself a disservice. I told myself that the goal of the posts was to dig deeper, peel back the layers, get down to the core. But by publishing online (or on-chain as the case may be), I was subconsciously writing for others, even if I told myself that I didn't care if others read. So, in an effort to be more authentic, I figured I'd stop publishing and start doing a private journal. Within 2 hours of that decision...
jer979Value. Happiness.
I feel happy. It's fun, it's light, like a feather floating at the beginning of Forrest Gump. But, like the feather, it's not grounded. It can flitter and float away. Value is also ephemeral. We know it when we see it. We feel it, somewhere deep inside. Something connects to us, saying "yes, this is worth it." The "it" that it's worth is energy. Energy in the form of time, attention, money. The things of which our possession is limited. There's a reason why all the great traditions point to "...
jer979Coffee with AI
Every day for the past month, I’ve had a coffee date with AI. I literally sit down, with a cup of coffee, with an appointment on my calendar that says “coffee with AI”. During that time, AI (I’ve used ChatGPT, Gemini, Perplexity, Claude, and Venice) and I literally have a chat, the way I would with a friend. It’s not “write this letter for me” or “do this or that.” No, it’s a chance for us to have a conversation about whatever topic I want. Many days, recently, at least, it’s been about quant...
www.twitter.com/jer979
jer979Purpose Struggle
Yesterday, I decided that my blogging career should come to an end. I was doing myself a disservice. I told myself that the goal of the posts was to dig deeper, peel back the layers, get down to the core. But by publishing online (or on-chain as the case may be), I was subconsciously writing for others, even if I told myself that I didn't care if others read. So, in an effort to be more authentic, I figured I'd stop publishing and start doing a private journal. Within 2 hours of that decision...
jer979Value. Happiness.
I feel happy. It's fun, it's light, like a feather floating at the beginning of Forrest Gump. But, like the feather, it's not grounded. It can flitter and float away. Value is also ephemeral. We know it when we see it. We feel it, somewhere deep inside. Something connects to us, saying "yes, this is worth it." The "it" that it's worth is energy. Energy in the form of time, attention, money. The things of which our possession is limited. There's a reason why all the great traditions point to "...
jer979Coffee with AI
Every day for the past month, I’ve had a coffee date with AI. I literally sit down, with a cup of coffee, with an appointment on my calendar that says “coffee with AI”. During that time, AI (I’ve used ChatGPT, Gemini, Perplexity, Claude, and Venice) and I literally have a chat, the way I would with a friend. It’s not “write this letter for me” or “do this or that.” No, it’s a chance for us to have a conversation about whatever topic I want. Many days, recently, at least, it’s been about quant...
www.twitter.com/jer979
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jer979Covering the Shame
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jer979Covering the Shame
I feel a tightness in my chest, across the front, extending down my arms into my hands.
That’s the anger.
I feel a heaviness in my stomach, like an expanding balloon or a mini bowling ball.
That’s the sadness.
I feel a hole in my sternum.
That’s the regret and the remorse.
But why are they there? What’s underneath?
Hiding beneath them all somehow, I think, but I don’t know, is a shame. Or maybe it’s just a fear of shame.
It’s like a scene in the movie when the actor (and the audience) senses that something is amiss, but doesn’t quite know what it is.
I’m just guessing. Or, rather, trying to intuit what’s there.
Shame perhaps, saying, “you’re not good enough as you are.”
I feel a tightness in my chest, across the front, extending down my arms into my hands.
That’s the anger.
I feel a heaviness in my stomach, like an expanding balloon or a mini bowling ball.
That’s the sadness.
I feel a hole in my sternum.
That’s the regret and the remorse.
But why are they there? What’s underneath?
Hiding beneath them all somehow, I think, but I don’t know, is a shame. Or maybe it’s just a fear of shame.
It’s like a scene in the movie when the actor (and the audience) senses that something is amiss, but doesn’t quite know what it is.
I’m just guessing. Or, rather, trying to intuit what’s there.
Shame perhaps, saying, “you’re not good enough as you are.”
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