When I was a kid I thought Philosopher was basically the best job ever. You’d stand in an amphitheatre surrounded by Roman columns and pontificate. Or you’d sit in nature and know things. You’d walk and hear and tell stories that weave our truths together. That was my take on it and it sounded pretty great (I’m a weird adult, I was a weird kid).
My freshman year of college I took Philosophy of Morality. I LOVED it. It was the right kind of hard. It got me all fired up and angry but in a productive kind of way. I was into it. And again thought, DAMN, philosophers know their shit. It must be GREAT to be one of the great philosophers.
Then I took Philosophy of Politics and it was all the kinds of ickiness you’d image and I tried y’all, I really did, but I could not. I took that one pass/fail.
And I got to read all kinds of amazing things and some infuriating things and listen to and question and learn from all kinds of different people and scholars. And I was so goddamned lucky but completely oblivious.
I had no idea I was living in a golden age.
That NOBODY does, do they? When they’re in it?
But I lived in this magical pocket of time.
I was able to attend a public university and sit in giant lecture halls and listen to the great voices of my time. I got to cozy up in cafes and question graduate students and open up my teenage mind. I studied abroad, living for a year in France studying language, dance, and theatre.
SHIT!!!! That was the motherfucking DREAM.
And then the entire world/economy fell apart… and came back together a bit… and then everything caught on fire and then came the plagues… and now there aren’t any crabs… or bodily autonomy so… It’s all pretty wild.
And here we are, pontificating on the internet (“Did philosophers know they were philosophers?”).
I don’t know anything y’all. I’m just trying to get through the Everything. I hope you’re getting through it too.
Drink some water. Moisturize. Take good care of yourself. You are loved by me and others.
Pretty Good Ugly 