Whenever a person expresses concern over the prospects of my decided area of studies, I cannot help from suspecting, and with great consternation, that this courage in pursuing a pleading passion might be simply a great folly of the mind. Have I let myself be ensnared by web of lies? To ourselves, we are after all the most masterful liars.
Suppose they were right, and I really am on a path to a life full of parsimony and less extravagant joys; suppose they were right about my having made the wrong decision, and at so crucial a juncture; suppose they were speaking of the objective truth, one not slurred by pride or passion but derived by the principles of practicality – what then?
I have let myself rest for too long in this rural hut. I have grown accustomed to its space, to its place, to the scenery that surrounds it, to the lake that reflects the sky in its shimmering eye, to the tracks that leads into calm forestry which I have imagined myself traversing in the many days ahead. There is no turning back now; I wouldn’t allow it. If to a life full of parsimony and less extravagant joys it leads, then so it shall be. But at least I would know that I’ve done what I most wished in life.