May 31
Fortune takes back what she has lent — possessions, name, favour. But she never gave you yourself; therefore she cannot take you from yourself either.
The Consolation of Philosophy (freely rendered)
Listening mode
Fortune takes back what she has lent — possessions, name, favour. But she never gave you yourself; therefore she cannot take you from yourself either.
When you introduce yourself somewhere, your name is usually followed by a second sentence: what you do, where you belong. It is so well rehearsed that you hardly notice it. Only when one day it is no longer true does a small gap open up at that spot. Then you notice how much it has been doing for you.
It would be convenient to assume that underneath lies the real thing, untouched and complete. But it can't be separated that cleanly. A position, a reputation, the goodwill of others have shaped your tone, your habits, even the things you notice. Some of that stays, even when what gave rise to it is long gone.
Perhaps that is why what cannot be taken from you is also nothing you possess. It isn't lying ready like a reserve you can fall back on in an emergency. Rather, it shows itself only in the gap itself: whether you quickly fill it with the next title or bear, for a while, the missing second sentence. What you will find there, you don't know beforehand.
One evening someone asks you what you do. You begin to answer.
