The histories of modern thought and philosophy have always
been described as progressive, their main defining features
being the preoccupation with epistemology, and the privileging of reason
in constructing accounts of experience and the world. It all sounds so orderly,
like you could command all the flares of your feelings or obsessions, angers
or doubts, and they'd line up and snap to attention like good little soldiers
under the orders of their superior. Sometimes, like when I see the results
of scans on the online portal but haven't discussed them yet with my doctor,
my mind will spiral toward the worst-case scenario. And then, convinced
This is it, the end is near, I'm reminded I haven't reviewed my will or put
my affairs in order. I'm told I become unreasonably sad, unreasonably
worried, certain I'm being punished for all the happiness I took, or took
for granted—until someone gently steers me away from images
of death, pushing a cup of coffee or a bowl of soup in front of me.