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Mindful. Small word. Grand adjective. Elusive verb.


Its pursuit is just one of the reasons I like to write. In spite of some success and adequate adulation, it has been surprising then to feel that my publications across genres and continents have taken a little something away from the intrinsic gratification of writing. So I’ve struggled. To figure out what I cared enough to write about, for whom, to what end, and other similar existential quandaries. It has taken one part introspection and many, many more of fending procrastination  – yes you guessed right, two-and-a-half years’ worth – to arrive at a hypothesis. 


It is to write what has most meaning to me. All with the general idea of articulating the philosophies that help me understand myself and make sense of the world. Since they are all but musings, like ripples on water, they have been framed as questions. Questions that I cogitate on. Answers to which, as I see them exercised around me, might agitate me. Amuse me. Or perhaps even annoy me. So I've put down my versions of these answers or rather those I had at the time of putting them down. They are going to be different for everyone and amazingly still, they might change constantly. So that addresses the what. 


But for whom? Writing, being about communication, demands an audience. Detaching myself from the desire to have an external audience has taken some doing. And as you can probably tell. I’m still working on it. 


Understanding (and articulating) the why has been an effective catalyst. It’s as simple an intent as that of tossing a pebble into the murkiness. And should anyone else chance upon the content, I’d consider myself privileged to receive feedback. Knowing how another might think differently will undoubtedly pave the way to evolving my thoughts and hence furthering my understanding.

* Not how it appears prima facie

Might Maslow's Hierarchy be passé?

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