Untitled Reflection II

I have come to realize anew how indifferent I have been to the world. How little have I loved it? Perhaps it is because I am already so full of myself.

There are not many things I like, not many things I love. Perhaps I have not received much love myself. I wonder whether people can reflect only as much love as they have received—exactly that much, and no more.

I remember loving so many things when I was little. Perhaps I have simply forgotten them while being overwhelmed by schoolwork, relationships, and life itself. What kind of person was I? What did I love?

I want to be that kind of person. I want to have distinct tastes of my own, to love those things consistently, and to let my life grow fuller. To borrow an expression I once used, I want to be like a pine tree. I want to love more.

But first, I must begin with myself. Sometimes it is necessary to lower the standards I impose on myself. For me, it is essential. I wonder whether love, too, has its priorities. What can I love?