Writing is an art form. Some have it; some don’t; some, like me, are trying to find it. The author of Descending Hubris I know well. I’ve known him since the mid-1990s. He has an incredible way with words. He reminds me a lot of Josh Linton. Despite our pasts, I consider him a dear friend.
Friendship is a vexing concept. It escapes some, thrives in others, while makes messes out of the rest of us. My friendship with the author has been nothing short of a love-hate affair. We’ve shared some of the more memorable moments of our lives together, but we’ve also been, virtually, at each others throats. Spacial distance, though, combined with life as it has come to us, has left our friendship dangling in midair. Unfortunately, that often happens. But I think we both know that there exists something deep inside our friendship that brings it back to earth despite the distance.
Late last night, though, I got an email from him encouraging me to read Descending Hubris. So I did, on my phone of all devices. It was long, but he had me. I wasn’t really able to sleep thereafter. After talking to my wife this morning about the coffee she made yesterday afternoon, and discovering that it was decaf after all, I am now certain that I know why I couldn’t sleep last night. When something churns inside of you, and you are really internalizing and digesting it, you can’t sleep. That was me last night.
I encourage you to read it. It may not sit well with you. For some, it most certainly shouldn’t. I empathize with his sentiments. It is a place I’ve been. You might have been there too, or, you may be there and are wondering what to do. You may be one he is about to pass on his way down. You have something to consider on your ascent. Either way, there is a living message here. Take his advice. He is a sharp guy. You would do well to think intently about the story he tells. It is not for the faint at heart, though, so let me advise you to proceed with caution.
