“I see people who do not read: they are so limited in their lives, even in the good things. They do not see beyond their immediate surroundings; they are incapable of changing anything because they neither know what there is to change, nor how to go about it. They don’t understand other people, not even their own loved ones, because they do not have the habit of reflecting on the yearnings, motives, and passions of human beings. And whatever thing they experience makes much less sense than it does for someone who reads. Besides, what would a man see in the fields of La Mancha who does not know who Don Quixote is? Dusty roads, nothing more.” – Agustin Cadena, “Why I Read” (trans. Mayo)
My mother is deeply suspicious of introspection. She thinks we should do our best to avoid moments of self-reflection and get out there and DO. The minute things get quiet, she is out the door like a shot, chattering, buying stuff, buzzing along the road to points unknown. Anything to keep from thinking.
I’m not sure how this relates to your post, except that my mother called last night and must have allowed me about two sentences in an hour’s worth of conversation. Those sentences were, I’m sure you’re right, and No really, Mom, I love Portland.
sounds like a deeply frightened person. existentially frightened. gazed into the abyss and this is her way of dealing.