Saturday, September 10, 2016

The book of life. Go read it

Please do yourself a favor and go read The Book of Life. Srsly. It's worth it.

No, I'm not affiliated with the site. This is genuine enthusiasm.

But what the f-ck IS the Book of life, then?  It is my new Bible.

It is my new Bible because someone hacked into my brain, extracted all its knowledge and beliefs, stole my life philosophy, extracted some wisdom from by subconscious mind, added some facts I wasn't aware of, and wrote the online book I was going to write someday. I'm happy someone else did it, though, because they did it better than I ever could have.

Unlike the real Bible, the Book of Life is easy to understand. It's brutally honest and concisely written. It is also genuinely useful. The authors don't seem to have a hidden agenda. There are no ads on the website. There's a lot of culture and philosophy but the text is practical.

They explain it like this:

There’s always been a longing to gather the important things in one place. Some of the appeal of a Bible or the collected works of a big name author is the sense that amidst all the chaos and disparate sources of knowledge, someone has taken the trouble to distill, to compress, to say what is essential. In a world overflowing with information, what we most need is curation. The Book of Life aims to be the curation of the best and most helpful ideas in the area of emotional life.

Well, I guess I already made my point. You can stop reading now and check out the website.

Or you can read a selection of my favorite articles. They are my favorites because they could have been written by me. Actually, I'm a weee bit angry and jealous because I wanted to write that stuff, but I know I wouldn't have gotten around to it anyway, so I guess I have to be grateful that someone else did it.

Love and self-love

Teaching and love

Loyalty and adultery

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Look at me I made a blog. LULz.

F-ck it. I have no idea what to do with this blog.

Sure I know how to create and even run a blog. But I have no idea what to do with it. Why did I create it in the first place? What will I write about? Who will I write to?

Will anyone care?

I don't think so. I guess I'll just write for myself and see how it goes.

Remember the adorable chemistry dog? I'm this guy. Image:

I still no idea what to write about. No, it's not that I have nothing to say. My problem is the opposite. I have too much to say. I have no idea where to begin.

Maybe you should know something about me. But there's so much to tell you, a basic age/sex/location thing is so superficial. It doesn't tell you who I am.

But where shall I begin, then? (Aww f-ck it, 33/cis female/Finland. There. It doesn't tell you much about me.)

Well. Let me tell you something that matters.

Let me introduce you to an important "person" in my life: the Inner Critic.

The Inner Critic, or IC, lives inside my head and comments everything I do. He (or she or it; I kinda haven't figured out its gender because it doesn't really matter) is brutal, perfectionistic, pessimistic, and never happy with anything I do.

Every time I try to do something I'm not 110% great at, the Inner Critic tells me I suck at it and I should stop it and just crawl under a rock, curl up in a ball and die.

I'm trying to learn to silence, or at least ignore, the Inner Critic's voice. He's done a lot of damage to me and my life. At the moment, he tells me this post is a piece of sh*t and I would be better off if I killed myself than posted it publicly.

"Just f-ck it!" I say.

To me, "F-ck it!" means a bit like "Just do it!" but it's more than "just doing" something. It's also not caring about what other people (or my Inner Critic) will think.

This blog exists because I managed to silence the IC's voice for a while.

The IC told me my blog and this post are amazing pieces of sh*t, but I managed to tell myself that there is so much sh*t floating on t3h interwebz anyway, if they deserve their existence, my piece of sh*t deserves to exist as well.

Then I hit the big orange "Publish" button.

HA. F-ck it.