There's a diatribe about emotional commitment every time my stomach rumbles or my alarm clock raps to me or I've just written a page. And it's not merely distracting oneself to ignore the anxiety of being alive . . .
Discipline is what separates us from beasts. And other things. There is no latent human trait that sparks it, understanding that sweat and effort now brings ecstasy later is too abstract to explain in symbols and color. And the only recourse is to enjoy the stress, find beauty in little sufferings, value personal sacrifices. Understand your weaknesses and demand things from them. Trust this . . I really just want to drink and play video games.
And this colors my dissatisfaction in the grind. There is no way to pour myself into this salt mine. Engineering, in this niche, is interesting but I exert no creativity, I feel no responsibility or accomplishment by pushing myself, there is no pride, and, most, there is no joy in this stress. But I'm good at it. This is my safety net for life. Strange: I could have done this straight out of high school.
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