Rose Tinted Glasses in Middlemarch

In Middlemarch by George Eliot

"His efforts at exact courtesy and formal tenderness had no defect for her. She filled up all blanks with unmanifested perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her own deafness to the higher harmonies. And there are many blanks left in the weeks of courtship, which a loving faith fills with happy assurance."

I have honestly never seen such a comprehensive and hilariously mocking description of the phenomenon of wearing rose tinted glasses when looking upon one's preferred person.

Moving

I've lost it. It took two weeks for me to feel ready enough to re-read it. I've lost it. I've lost that folded over piece of paper; that powerful piece of paper. Its existence made me sorry, and the loss of it took away my first good day this semester.

I was just starting to feel operationally ready again when it decided to disappear, vanish, go poof.

I find that I am unable to look forward to what is to come. It can be said that I have currently lost sight of my ikigai and my ability to enjoy life as it is.

For now though, I know what keeps me moving. The act of reading seems to be sufficient to keep me out of bed.

Transit

There is something inherently muddled about travel. The crossing from day to night in an unnatural amount of time, the awake but unfocused mind and the push and pull of vague emotions.

My sense of restlessness and loss is always heightened when I travel alone which; I guess is the only way I travel now. If I were to try conjure up a reason, I would attribute it to the futility of mindless purpose that characterizes traveling. Traveling is always about getting from one point to another. A to B to C to D. The reading, the eating, the thinking, the aimless wandering, the drifting from chair to chair, the waiting for gate after gate to open, all of it driven by lackluster wants, all of it meaningless. The entire process is like a bare and ghastly version of life. The exception is that in transit, one cannot pretend that any of the filler activities undertaken have real purpose.

In transit as in life, we are constantly preoccupying ourselves with petty distractions and drivel, waiting for the next step, striving for the next goal. Meanwhile though, we are caught, stuck behind gates which open only to lead us to another impasse.

I fear that I am not really moving anywhere.