Anatomy of Reflection
There is something distinctly disturbing about self-reflection--those of us who seldom take part in it or abstain from it find themselves in the grips of a confidence or bravery, and those who can’t but indulge in it regress into the depths of self-doubt. A sobered mind might dismiss this observation as coincidental, or might refrain altogether from such an inquiry because of inherent difficulties associated with dissecting any criteria for emotional distress, but the question nonetheless presents a profound opportunity for growth that cannot be denied, and it is a question which is only avoided by cause of fear--those with little to hide are more apt to inquire, and those with deep-seeded regrets will be equally averse. In the least, one’s aversion to the subject serves as an indication of their valuation of themselves.
Contemplating an End
There is something awful about being confronted with a blank canvas--it watches you, unblinking. You feel an obligation, a pressure to address some demand: that you must imprint, thereupon, to the best of your abilities, the greatest measure of meaning you can manage. And it should have nothing to do with you.