The Price of Reasons

It is our reasons that can be a double-edged sword. By them we can talk ourselves into and out of things. We can use them to justify and excuse our less wholesome behaviours and we can use them to remain stuck where we are. They can save us from other situations. But people place more faith in their reasons than is perhaps warranted. If there is a gap to something new, we can all too often come up with a host of reasons as to why not.

Yesterday evening I introduced a slight flavour of melancholy, not because I was feeling melancholic myself, but somehow, I caught a whiff of it on the breeze. And melancholy can be a sign of when our reasons have let us down, we have regret and sadness about something we didn’t do or somethings we did. Melancholy can teach us if we touch it without indulging too much. It can be a tender thing with a source in our hearts.

I’ll hazard a guess that most err on the conservative and preservative side. There are many things that we simply do not try. Our reason says that they are not sensible, and we use these reasons to dress our fears and justify our conservatism. We are not honest about our fears, so we put jacket and trousers on them, and maybe an overcoat too. We call this being reasonable.

Yet those faint airs of melancholy speak to us of our loss and our unrequited. When we behave in a shabby manner we can feel embarrassed initially and this can morph into a melancholy. This melancholy is a part of the price of reasons.

Having cued this up:

Have I ever excused unwholesome behaviour with reasons?

Do I easily find reasons as to why not to?

Has my conservatism ever caused me melancholy?

If I am not honest about my fears how will I ever look them in the eye?