Swimming in the flood of ease

In the abundant chaos of high summer, boundaries are needed to stay true to who you are and what inspires you.

It has been a while since I last wrote a letter. In the past months, I have been swept up in what felt like the whirlwind of a new reality. I became a father and hardly allowed myself the space for the contemplation these letters require. I also found myself disheartened by what is possible with AI these days. I questioned the value of these (initially handwritten) letters if I can produce a decent text with just a few prompts. A text that might even express my thoughts better than I could myself. I feared the soul of my writing might be lost. I was also afraid that, by giving into the temptation of having AI think for me, I might rob myself of the love I feel for writing.

I needed time to consider how I want to relate to this technology. First I had to realign myself with my values, which are rooted in following my own inspiration. Inspiration finds its roots in the word inspirare, literally `to breathe into’. Inspiration is the breath that animates us, enlivens us, and leads us towards what is true; and that sense of being inspirited is not something I can entrust to an algorithm that ultimately refers only to itself.

The value of resistance

It became clear to me that I need to set boundaries. I must establish rules for myself that keep me from being swept away in the chaos of convenience. Coming to new insights and giving them a voice is difficult, but I believe the resistance felt in the creative process is essential. I find no fulfilment in the pursuit of ease and the absence of friction, which seems to be the obsession of our time. One of my rules, then, is to write by hand, away from distraction, and in tune with my inspiration.

In a broader sense, love (our creative force) is inextricably bound to suffering (our resistance). We seem to have forgotten that love needs suffering in order to come to its full expression. For instance, the love I feel for my newborn son deepens my dependence on grace. The knowledge that I could lose him is terrifying, and at the same time, the source of an overwhelming gratitude that I get to know him. Love and grief go hand in hand. They make me vulnerable, they open me, they soften me—and through that openness, even more love can flow in.

Vigilance in the heart of summer

In high summer, around the solstice, we find ourselves in a similar, abundant chaos. Everything seems possible. It can feel as if the abundance of summer will never end. But with the peak of the light comes a turning inward: the long return to the dark. We prefer not to think about it now, but I still invite you to pause and consider where you need to set limits, so you do not drown in the chaos of abundance and ease.

We all run the risk of waking at summer’s end as from a slumber, with no clear sense of who we are or what we stand for, because we have been swept away by all that seemed so beautiful in the moment. Take the time to discern what is of true value to you. Set boundaries for yourself, so you are not led astray. That is not always easy. But discipline, cultivated in alignment with your own connection to truth, will eventually yield the discernment you will need as the year matures.