2021/7/19 #poetry After the walk, the long walk, the walk that I had not prepared for, I felt sore. I felt weakened from effort. I felt that the day had been used, time spent, in a new and worthy activity but not in any effort toward my goals. I should throw them out, those goals. They only take my peace. If I should think, as I do, that accomplishment of them should bring peace, I should also think that it is merely the end of striving that would bring it. Striving, which could also stop if I just drop it, each and every goal. Some say that habits are better than goals, that rituals and repetitive behaviors will bring the results and that the goal is just a metric. Even if you parse it this way, if your activities are in pursuit of any object they may fall short, or be yet impending and as such cause strife. If you should in true and actual fashion live each and every day for it's own sake, and verily as if it be your last, then you'd have to make a way of performing mundane and necessary tasks that enlivens you so that you have no future hopes, only to enjoy this moment and continue as you are. This trick will serve you well even when the habits do amount to something in the end; but the real prize is this contentment in the moment. It is supreme as a skill and as a goal.