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...
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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...
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jer979Impending Fear
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jer979Impending Fear
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Like a giant wave in the distance, the thought grows.
It picks up speed. It grows in size.
The body tenses. The pupils contract.
The world becomes smaller.
What should be a range of possible outcomes collapses into a moment.
Finality.
It feels awful. I want to cry. To scream.
The grief feels so real, constricting me, like a massive boa constrictor, draining the life energy from my body to the point where I can’t imagine anything beyond.
It’s like there’s no future and time has stopped. The world, or at least, MY world has ended.
All of this from a thought.
It’s not real.
The moment hasn’t happened. It may never. It might, but it hasn’t yet.
But I’ve allowed myself to become small. To be closed off. To miss the joy of living.
Because the wave was never there in the first place.
Like a giant wave in the distance, the thought grows.
It picks up speed. It grows in size.
The body tenses. The pupils contract.
The world becomes smaller.
What should be a range of possible outcomes collapses into a moment.
Finality.
It feels awful. I want to cry. To scream.
The grief feels so real, constricting me, like a massive boa constrictor, draining the life energy from my body to the point where I can’t imagine anything beyond.
It’s like there’s no future and time has stopped. The world, or at least, MY world has ended.
All of this from a thought.
It’s not real.
The moment hasn’t happened. It may never. It might, but it hasn’t yet.
But I’ve allowed myself to become small. To be closed off. To miss the joy of living.
Because the wave was never there in the first place.
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