That I am myself is what I think, above all else, is most worthy of my love.
Intelligence, I say with confidence, I have—less than some, but more than most. It has served me incalculably well. That is a lie, but who wants to pass up the opportunity to say “incalculably?” Not I. The calculations, ruminations, reflections, strategizations—that’s not a word, and you shouldn’t use it—amplifications of thought, of pattern, of motive all boil down to intelligence. It helps me see advantages where others would not. It helps me predict with startling accuracy what my enemies will do. You might reasonably object here, pointing out that what I’m describing isn’t intelligence pure and whole, but cunning! I think you’re right. While I maintain that intelligence and its displays are indeed worthy of praise, that which I find worthy of praise in myself is the application thereof, the monuments built to it.
Musical aptitude has played a part in making sure I’m still here. Indeed, as Nietzsche wrote, without music, life would be a mistake. The time I have spent writing music I knew to be of above-average quality purely for the purpose of personal artistic fulfillment tells me I’m right to suspect I would not be here without it. Sharing the rough and messy ideas for guitar riffs I’ve made with friends, whether out of insecurity or excitement, has confirmed that I know enough theory and have a good enough ear for melody to write good music and that my friends are supportive, or, of course, revealed that my friends are liars who don’t want to hurt my feelings. Fortunately, my intelligence says it’s the former. In any case, I was not a prodigy. Musical aptitude grew in me as I grew.
Need I be unnecessarily verbose and list off numerous other virtues I possess? No, that sentence will do.
Intelligence is wonderful to have, and critical thinking is key to sharpening it. Aptitude, be it musical, literary, or in any other way artistic, is unusual and worthy of much praise and love, but is it not conceivable that it could exist in an individual who is not sensitive to art’s many wonders and thus fails to appreciate such creative endeavors on anything other than a theoretical level? No, I much prefer to be who I am, even with my occasional bouts of self-loathing that reveal themselves to be nothing more than a way for me to remind myself of who I want already to have become. I could not have become who I am now without my sensitivities, without my struggles, without having overcome all my former selves, without the instincts in my body informing my decisions.
I, Grigori, Great Ego, Guardian Fallen Angel, Creative Extraordinaire, love most about myself that I am who I am.
With care,
~ Grigori