"We live longer, but less precisely and in shorter sentences"
October Reflections on the New Chapters
We all, sooner or later, lay our eyes on a calendar where “Darling Me” stands marked somewhere in the middle of an optimistic life expectancy, though I know better than to trust the exact date. I’m ahead of schedule by nearly a week, yet my gut instinct tells me it’s not really the halfway point—it never is.
Wislawa Szymborska once observed, "Żyjemy dłużej, ale mniej dokładnie i krótszymi zdaniami" (we live longer, but less precisely and in shorter sentences), a reflection that feels particularly relevant in moments like this. A sharp critique of how modern life unfolds—longer, yes, but often without the depth or careful attention it deserves. Life’s New Chapters—those significant transitions, redefinitions, or shifts in direction—seem to come and go faster now, leaving little time to sit with them. Humanity rushes through each, propelled by an accelerating world, and the act of pausing to make sense of these shifts feels like a luxury we rarely afford.
But I do, and I believe you should too. As we sit here and reflect on the depth of our lives and the responsibility we hold in shaping each chapter, there is a certain irony in how often we trade wisdom for folly, seeking shortcuts in a world that offers none. It’s as if, like Jupiter in the old fables, the heavens themselves hold a lottery, tempting us to leave our fates to chance rather than deliberate action. Jupiter’s lottery represents the randomness of life’s gifts and misfortunes, but it also serves as a cautionary tale—while the lottery may hand us opportunities, it is wisdom that teaches us how to use them. In choosing folly over reflection, we might gamble away the chance for meaningful growth, rushing from one fleeting moment to the next. Yet the responsibility to craft our lives with care, to ensure every chapter is intentional and remembered, lies with us. Wisdom reminds us that while fate may set the stage, it is our deliberate choices that create the story worth living.
From a Stoic perspective, every change offers a chance for growth, an opportunity to realign with virtue and reason. Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence suggests that life’s events are cyclical, and how we respond to each "new chapter" defines the quality of our existence. Instead of mindful engagement with change, we often breeze through life's turning points, scribbling in the margins of our experiences rather than writing in the main body.
In this philosophical context, we might ask: What happens when we no longer take the time to properly transition from one chapter to another? When the sentences we use to describe our lives become shorter and vaguer, does the essence of our experiences fade into the background?
Neuroscientific research shows that how we approach transitions, or "new chapters," affects both our mental well-being and cognitive processes. When we linger in reflection, giving space to new experiences, our brains adapt, creating stronger neural connections. In contrast, the constant rushing from task to task, change to change, diminishes our ability to encode memories effectively. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for executive functions and decision-making, becomes overworked, leading to feelings of emotional disconnection.
Moreover, studies on neuroplasticity suggest that while our brains are capable of constant adaptation, this ability comes at a cost. The fast-paced shifts in modern life—career changes, relocations, evolving relationships—require rapid cognitive adjustments. Without proper reflection, our brains may adapt to survive, but they don’t thrive. The quick succession of life’s "new chapters" can result in a disjointed sense of self, where depth and introspection are sacrificed for convenience and efficiency.
To counter this, we need to reclaim the art of living with precision. As we open new chapters in life, we must consciously slow down and reflect. This doesn't mean resisting change, but rather, embracing it with intention. We should aim to lengthen our sentences, metaphorically speaking—taking the time to understand our transitions and what they signify.
The idea of carefully crafting life’s new chapters isn’t new. Henry David Thoreau was 27 years old when he began his two-year retreat at Walden Pond in 1845. He spent his time there living deliberately and reflecting on life's essentials, experiences that he later captured in Walden, published in 1854 when Thoreau was 37. His decision to retreat to the woods was a deliberate choice to confront the fundamental truths of existence. Thoreau, in his quest for simplicity and depth, famously wrote, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life.” His philosophy is a reminder that life’s chapters deserve our full attention—that we must not merely pass through them, but actively shape them.
In a world that constantly pushes us toward speed and productivity, Thoreau’s words hold profound relevance. Living deliberately, as he suggests, means being present in our transitions, and engaging with them as opportunities for introspection and growth. It’s about resisting the urge to move too quickly from one phase to the next, and instead, taking time to reflect on what each new chapter represents—its challenges, lessons, and how it shapes our identity.
As psychologist Carl Jung once noted, "Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes." This introspective approach invites us to pause and allows us to transform life's changes into meaningful growth rather than mere adjustments. When we fail to do so, we risk living superficially, as though we are skimming through our experiences rather than immersing ourselves in them.
By taking the time to write each chapter with care—whether through journaling, meditation, or even moments of quiet solitude—we create space for deeper understanding. Neuroscientific research supports this, showing that reflective practices strengthen our cognitive and emotional resilience. As our brains process these changes, we form stronger neural connections, integrating past experiences with present insights. The result is a richer, more cohesive narrative of who we are.
In the end, while we may live longer today, the true measure of life is not in the number of pages we turn, but in the depth of the story we write. If we rush through life’s transitions, merely skimming the surface, we risk losing the essence of our experiences. Our chapters, filled with shorthand instead of full sentences, become shallow, and the meaning slips away. But as Thoreau and Jung remind us, it is our responsibility to make every chapter worth living, and more importantly, worth remembering. As Viktor Frankl said, "Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked."
