Seneca, on the Subway
On Seneca, beginnings, and what kicks you in the jaw
The first thing I did this morning, was wake up. Then I read some Seneca, it had been a while, but I remembered I had bulldozed through his letters previously, I couldn't remember a single line.
Today, things changed. The first line of his letters to Lucilius stuck with me. For more than an hour, I read through and picked up new additions to my commonplace book. Got the dog ready for the day, got myself ready for the day, and then headed for the morning drudge into an office in lower Manhattan. Within fifteen minutes I was on the subway. I opened the book again, and the only thing I could focus on was the initial introduction into the letter, to a friend, or a confidant, or a mentee, or himself, I don't really know.
That's probably why I wanted to throw it into the hoard of words I have been developing, also why I can't think of a better topic to write this post about. Beginnings are always important, introductions, ignition, however if you never choose to start, you can never get going. So, here we are.
This is the way the day started, work ends, so does the grim feeling I carried into the week initially. I joked today to a colleague "They were singing happy birthday, and all I could do was think of how they seemed like vultures mocking the tick of time against me". I wasn't in a foul mood, still am not. Today was rather pleasant, especially reaching out over a thousand years later. Words matter, they always have maybe they always will. For now that doesn't matter.
Why was the introduction to the letter the part that stuck? A call to action that can be applied to almost anything and still remain true? Use the tools that are granted to you. That makes sense... use the advantages that you are fortunate enough to receive. Use the words of your enemies against them, no, that's not the point.
So I'll throw this down in my writing, take a break, probably smoke a cigarette and ponder what freedom that is taking away from me as I do. I'll worry about the formatting of the page, the clarity of the language I am using, the abundant use of commas. Does it matter? I guess the important part today for me at least is writing them. I'll worry about the rest later.
Seneca always seemed to make sense at first glance, but making sense does not make meaning. I'm going to make my way back through this translation carefully, picking and pruning what I want to remember this time. That's kind of the best part of it for me. Freedom is doing something for yourself, knowing yourself, and treating yourself well.
Later in his letters, Seneca writes "For whom did I learn these things? You need not fear that your time has been wasted so long as you have learned them for yourself." Today, I have finally learned that lesson, and it kicked me in the jaw from the first line. A thousand years, a hundred or more lifetimes away. That's kind of great.
