Member-only story
For a long time, I have vaguely tried to learn languages, but have largely failed — becoming a great reader of European languages 5th grade level; my condition of semi-monolingualism seems to me to be inextricably linked to my condition as an American: a condition of extreme intellectual provincialism. I also think this condition is a metaphor for a general condition of stuckness, of being trapped in a certain mode of being that doesn’t seem particularly interesting or profound — that’s just sort of slapped onto raw life. For every book I read, I spend a few hours on the Internet for no particular reason; for every edifying conversation I have, I have several others that serve no real purpose, and might as well have not existed. A meaningful life seems like a thing of the past: something that can be idealized, branded, replicated, enforced, dreamed-of, but not experienced, not really, or not for more than echoes or moments.
