Empty

Have I finally emptied myself?

It’s been a week since I last wrote here. That’s my longest break since I began in the Fall. What’s up with that?

I think it’s a bunch of things, a swirling mess of career transition, economic gloom, deteriorating family health, painting, the prepress swamp, and of course the South Florida Season getting into full swing, all circumambulating a growing void of self-doubt that’s gnawing away at my joy of creating and communicating.

I guess that explains it.

Thank God for Husserl! Yes, of course his brand of phenomenology has been a cornerstone for me ever since “Experience and Judgement.” And I’ve long suspected that Jung was student of Husserl, but that’s for another post. And not what I mean here.

I’m talking rather about Husserl’s nagging self-doubt. This man was a genius. His clarity in the depths of psychological explorations blew away the mystification of Hegel and the psychosis of Nietzsche. Yet, this giant was constantly unsure of himself and his work.

I’m no Husserl, but I find great comfort in his uncertainty. If a lion can be filled with self-doubt, then it must certainly be OK for an ant to feel the same way, too.

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