reading this a year into a pandemic seems designed to touch on raw nerves and exacerbate the feeling of youth passing one by, but in fact it's quite the opposite. it vindicates me in a way, that I don't think i would spend the past year any differently. sure, i miss the ability to go anywhere i wanted with little fear of getting sick, but the core aspects of my self, my reading, my art, remain unchanged. ever present, regardless of the pandemic or not.

what left me emotional in reading this text is Seneca's passage on the provenance and genealogy of wisdom. there is nothing quite like being touched by all those that came before me:

Of all people, they alone who give their time to philosophy are at leisure, they alone really live. For it's not just their own lifetime that they watch over carefully, but they annex every age to their own; all the years that have gone before are added to their own. Unless we prove most ungrateful, those most distinguished founders of hallowed thoughts came into being for us, and for us they prepared a way of living. We are led by the work of others into the presence of the most beautiful treasures, which have been pulled from darkness and brought to light. From no age are we barred, we have access to all; and if we want to transcend the narrow limitations of human weakness by our expansiveness of mind, there is a great span of time for us to range over. We can debate with Socrates, entertain doubt with Carneades, be at peace with Epicurus, overcome human nature with the Stoics, and go beyond it with the Cynics. Since nature allows us shared possession of any age, why not turn from this short and fleeting passage of time and give ourselves over completely to the past, which is measureless and eternal and shared with our betters?