Learn the craft of thinking

Learn the craft of thinking, unswerving, yet erring.

To err is to wander. To swerve is to change direction quickly and violently. There is a difference between jumping in your car and speeding at 50 mph to accomplish the next chore on the rote, say, obtaining one's weekly groceries, and milling peacefully over to the corner store to buy a sack of potatoes. There is a similarity, perhaps, in that these are both things that have to be done, in some shape or form.

But what attitude is brought to the process? Forwards always, no abrupt changes in direction? No, not forwards only. We turn, we meander, we stop and pause. What's this store that just opened, I didn't see it before, what's inside? What's that person wearing, where did it come from? What are the clouds like today?

Was today a good day or a bad day?

In order to answer these questions one must err, one must wander.

But what is so bad about swerving? Indeed, what is swerving?

Swerving thought and a swerving automobile... both are swerving from a purposeful means of proceeding. You stop at a store in front of you because it is related to you. It is in your neighborhood, it is on the path you use everyday on the commute.

To swerve is to admit a severe error. To swerve is to lose control. To swerve is to follow a line of thought, you did not anticipate in the least before this moment.

It is done, however. It is done often even, I would say. But we could strive not to. For to do so takes away from the craft of thinking.

Learn the craft of thinking, unswerving, yet erring.