A Personal History of Doubt
Here’s my Friday post, early. Republished piece since the one I wanted to put up today isn’t by a long shot ready. Acknowledge your weaknesses and exploit your strengths, I guess. See you next week. MM
Here’s a thought among many: How can you really know anybody? What is the true nature of things? Why are we here?
These questions go back a long time with me. As soon as I could talk, I questioned. Mother said it wore her out; no report on what Dad thought of it. With my brother it was always, “Huh? When’s lunch?” (More about my brother’s tree-climbing misadventures to come.)
After high school I told the folks I wanted to major in Philosophy. Being the God-fearing people they were, their reaction wasn’t a surprise. I assured my mother it was okay. After all, it only got really intense when you had to take the final examination. “What’s that?” she said, unsure. “Suicide!” I laughed.
After that, I could be anything but a Philosophy major. I may have stuffed it for a good couple of years, but I still ask questions…
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