Would you believe it? I’m breaking my own routine here. Instead of my usual routine of writing my newsletter on Saturday night, I’m hammering away at it on a Wednesday, well ahead of time. It’s going to be busy like you wouldn’t believe in the coming few days. See, once my workday wraps up on Friday, I’ll jump in the car, and head straight for Rotselaar, to the writer’s event I’ve been invited to.
So, what have I been up to, lately? Well, I’ve just finished reading ‘The Practicing Stoic’. Would I recommend you to go and get it? It depends. A good part of it contains the kind of common sense advice you pick up in your teenage years, like the notion that fretting over stuff you can’t control is a fruitless endeavor. But sprinkled amid the familiar wisdom, I stumbled upon a few nuggets worth sharing.
For example, you’re probably no stranger to the notion that chasing money, wealth, and luxury as life’s main goals isn’t such a great idea. Oddly enough, as humans, we have a knack for adapting to luxury rather quickly, leaving us perpetually unsatisfied, no matter how far we’ve come in terms of material progress. We’re donkeys eternally chasing that elusive carrot, without ever getting closer.
But hey, I reckon you’re well aware of that already. So, here’s another life goal many of us have, which seems much nobler at first glance: to be remembered after we’re long gone. Especially writers seem to care about this goal, believing writing a book guarantees them immortality of some sort. And politicians care greatly about this goal too, former US president Obama comes to mind for example, taking great care to ‘leave a legacy’.
But no matter how we spin this, when you peel away the layers and dig deep, it all boils down to a simple truth: we humans seem utterly incapable of coming to grips with the idea that our own story has an expiration date. We yearn for continuity, for a way to extend our narrative, even if it’s merely in the “memory of others.”
So, let’s get real here. The odds of you achieving immortality, by being remembered across generations, are slim to none. Several times in “The Practicing Stoic,” you’ll catch those ancient Greek philosophers talking about old books that have vanished without a trace. They wax poetic about mentors and thinkers who’ve shaped their minds, but who’ve left behind practically nothing to remember them by. The same goes for celebrities. Most of them will fade into obscurity in a few decades, let alone a few centuries.
In a way, we’re all destined to construct sandcastles on the shores of time – impressive while they last, but ultimately transient, especially when viewed through the long lens of history. And you know what? That’s perfectly alright with me. If something I do, write, or say manages to linger for a few years after my tale is told – fantastic. If not, well, that’s just fine too.
Which brings me to another book I’ve been reading: ‘Skin In The Game’ by Nassim Taleb. Amongst others, it talks about the Lindy effect. As the story goes, a bunch of actors stumbled upon this idea. One day, they noticed that if a play ran for more than 120 days, it was nearly guaranteed to become a long-lasting hit. Now, it’s not so much about the exact number of days, but it’s about a concept that goes like this:
In a nutshell, the things from yesteryears that endure, the ones that keep on sticking around in our culture, do so for good reason – they’ve weathered the test of time, proven their worth time and again. And the longer these venerable relics of the past stay “sticky,” the greater their odds of sticking around even longer in our cultural tapestry. So, what’s the takeaway from all this? Well, heed the wisdom of Alphonso X, an eleventh-century Spanish monarch:
“Burn old logs, drink old wine, read old books, keep old friends.”
Not a shabby piece of advice if you ask me. Now, go on and enjoy your weekend! See you next time.
Kind regards
Vincent J. Dancet
PS Hier is het tweede deel van m’n interview met Carlita Van Rossum