God Without the Program

 

Not long after I left the sterile confines of the rehabilitation center, the habits I had picked up there began to slip away. Prayer, once a daily ritual recited with obligatory devotion, fell silent. The Bible, placed on the nightstand as if it were a talisman against relapse, gathered dust. I did not abandon these things in a storm of rebellion; they simply ceased to compel me. The urgency that had driven me through those first months of sobriety evaporated, leaving behind a quiet indifference.

The place where I now reside calls itself a sober living home, one of those three-quarter houses that promise structure and support in exchange for a monthly fee. It is, in truth, another institution, only less overt. There are rules: attendance at meetings is not merely encouraged but tallied, with consequences for absence. Accreditation—some bureaucratic seal from a disembodied association-demands compliance down to the smallest detail. Even over-the-counter remedies, aspirin or remedies for a cold, must be stored according to protocol, as though a bottle of ibuprofen posed the same threat as the substances that once ruled my life. Food supplements, too, fall under scrutiny, lest they conceal some hidden peril or temptation. The house hums with regulation, a constant reminder that freedom here is conditional, portioned out in measured doses.

Manufactured Soullessness

 

    It should be noted at the outset that the homes in question are all clean, well-kept, and architecturally pleasing to the eye. But they're all ugly, just the same. This is a large subdivision in Jacksonville, one of many in this huge sprawling city. The street names are predictable: Wren, Cooper's Glen, Maserati, Peaceful Lakes, Red Fox Run, etc. Dig a pond by the entrance, and install a lighted fountain in the middle and the prices of the houses go up a few thousand.  Welcome to suburbia-not far away are the strip malls, the shopping centers, the fast food restaurants, car dealerships and malls. Wait, you say, ugly? How so?

No Man Is an Island—Except the Smart Ones Who've Read the Fine Print

 

image generated by Grok AI

I have lately taken to wondering why folks persist in certain customs. Take the habit of greeting one another with "Good morning" or "Hello" as though the words carried some freight of meaning. They do not. They are empty. One might as well bark at the postman or nod at the lamppost; the exchange signifies nothing beyond the fact that two creatures capable of speech have briefly occupied the same patch of air. I have tried omitting the ritual on occasion, and the world did not end, nor did anyone appear noticeably wounded. The sun rose regardless, and the coffee tasted the same. A man might save himself a good deal of breath by simply passing in silence, yet convention demands the performance.

For the Children (Just Not the Poor Ones)

 

The great enthusiasm among our betters for replacing coal and oil with wind and sun is not, perhaps, quite so disinterested as they would have us believe.

“We do it only for the children,” they assure us with the practiced sincerity of men reading from a script, “and for their children after them.” Very noble. Yet the poor, in their coarse way, show little gratitude for these lofty aims. They care nothing for solar arrays that cost a fortune and fail when the sky is overcast; they have small patience with sermons on diversity, inclusion, or the finer points of sexual metamorphosis. Their minds are occupied with more immediate trifles—rent that must be paid, children who must not starve, clothes that must somehow be found, streets that must not become places of casual murder, winters that must not kill.

In Defense of the Un-Cheerful

    

 I have met a certain number of people who regard any expression of negativity as verboten, as a kind of moral leprosy. One critical remark, one honest doubt, and the offender is scorned, even ridiculed-if not patronizingly "helped". They speak of it with the gravity of men defending a sacred principle. To admit difficulty, to name a fault, to utter a plain complaint—these things, in their view, are not merely unpleasant; they are crimes against right thinking itself.

Jordan Peterson and Ayn Rand Compared

        Jordan Peterson and Ayn Rand both speak directly to people who feel the world has gone soft on personal responsibility. They attract similar crowds—young men especially, but plenty of others too—who are tired of being told that success is mostly luck, privilege, or exploitation. Rand, through novels like Atlas Shrugged, painted a vivid picture of creators and doers standing up against a society that punishes achievement and rewards mediocrity. Her heroes walk away rather than carry the weight of the incompetent. Peterson, in his lectures and books, tells people to stand up straight, clean their room (get their lives in order before trying to change the world), and voluntarily shoulder the heaviest burden they can bear. Both deliver a message that cuts through the haze: life is hard, but you can make something noble of it by refusing to drift or make excuses. That core appeal—take charge of yourself, produce value, live with purpose—explains why fans of one often find something familiar in the other.

Yet the two part ways when you look closer at what they actually value. Rand was uncompromising in her celebration of rational self-interest and individual happiness; she saw joy, achievement, and personal pride as the proper aim of life, and she regarded sacrifice for others as immoral. Peterson speaks of meaning coming from bearing burdens (often for family, community, or something larger than yourself), and he warns against a shallow pursuit of mere happiness. Where Rand’s ideal is the heroic individual pursuing his own rational values without apology, Peterson’s is the responsible individual who finds order and purpose by confronting chaos and accepting limits. Objectivists often criticize Peterson for slipping toward collectivism or mysticism; Peterson has called Rand’s philosophy overly simplistic and her characters one-dimensional. Still, both have shaken people awake, given them a moral compass in confusing times, and left a mark that lingers long after the lectures and books are closed.

Elementary Music Theory

You experience some sounds as interesting, beautiful, pleasing — or even annoying and disturbing — because music is organized sound (and silence) over time.
"Organized" means there are differences in pitch (how high or low a sound is), and the sounds are arranged with rhythm (when they happen and how long they last). To review:

1. Music — organized sound and silence over time.
2. Rhythm — when and how long sounds (or notes) are played.
3. Interval — the distance in pitch between two notes.
4. Melody — a sequence of notes of different pitches (with rhythm) played over time.
5. Pitch — how high or low a sound is (not how loud — loudness is a separate quality called dynamics or volume).
6. Note — a single musical sound (with pitch and duration).