Tag: philosophy
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Hope is patience with the lamp lit
Gregory had hope; how nebulous is that? He and his wife are my closest friends, but it was still difficult for me to talk about the changes that were beginning to thicken over them like shadows on a winter’s day -difficult for me, I guess, but perhaps not for them. “What do you expect us…
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Is thought gendered?
There was a time when I thought I actually understood the world, but I wonder if I was just casting my eyes about me from a plinth. I was a gynaecologist in another life, and although I tried to understand the other side, perhaps I was merely looking through a glass darkly. It takes more…
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A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise
I’d like to think I’m generous; I may not have as much to contribute as Bill Gates, but I have to hope it’s the thought that counts, not the amount. Still, there has always been a nagging feeling that I could give more if I were -what?- more aware of the needs of others? More…
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Derivative Anger
I bumped into a Jessica the other day. She was standing at a corner of a busy street waiting for the little man to light up on the crosswalk sign. I hadn’t seen her for ages, but apart from the inevitable tell-tale wrinkles of a maturing face, she looked the same as she had when…
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Fit Philosophy
As some of my more dogged readers might remember, my mother once cautioned me about the folly of pursuing Philosophy instead of Medicine at University. Every mother, it seems, has dreams of their offspring becoming doctors, or lawyers -well, some societally respected career, at least- but her reasons seemed particularly pointed. “Even if you get…
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Ich und Du?
When I was a child, I had no inkling of cultural appropriation. I eagerly dressed as the cowboy Roy Rogers, and enmeshed myself in what I mistakenly assumed were aboriginal customs of dress and philosophy; I once (and, it must be stressed, unwillingly) played the role of a girl in a Grade 4 school play…
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Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy
I realize how malleable our memories can be; how a passion in our later life can be attributed to a precocious childhood; how we can bend the past like origamied paper. But, short of recognizably dated diary passages, or a still-living family member (whose memory could be equally suspect), there can be no reliable verification…
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Spero, ergo sum
I think there is often a lot going on that we would like to change but can’t, a lot that happens which we would rather ignore but don’t; and it’s difficult to know whether the appropriate response should be hope, despair, or… what, anger? Many of the larger problems that confront us are multifaceted, and…
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