The Precarious Life

 If one day I become financially secure, so that I can freely write and publish, I know I'll miss this precarious life in which I hardly write and don't publish at all. I'll miss it not only because it will be a life, however mediocre, that I'll never have again, but also because every sort of life has a special quality and particular pleasure, and when we take up another life, even a better one, that particular pleasure isn't as good, that special quality is less special, until they fade away, and there's something missing.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, ch. 180

Now, will I miss this "precarious life in which I hardly write and don't publish at all"? To be fair, I have been writing a lot, every day, even if only a paragraph or two, but certainly not as much as I need to write. However, I'm certainly not publishing anything, although my goal would be to start sending around the Epics book in the fall (inshallah). However, will I miss this life, "however mediocre"? On the most basic level, yes, because I won't be teaching anymore, and teaching is something I truly love and maybe the only thing at which I've ever been any good. I did point out recently that the time I spent in my little apartment on the last trip felt like what I want retirement to be: writing in the morning and then having the afternoon to explore a beautiful and interesting world. I suppose we do mourn every passing age, if it was not a particularly interesting or important one, simply because it won't come again, and it means that we're coming closer and closer to death. Beyond that, is there something about this specific life that I would miss? I'll have to brood on that one.