It comes from an ambition to become an intellect of some greatness. I want to be able and ready to contribute to debates that I care about. I don’t want to just keep reading and learning and forever thinking that I’m not “up there” to speak. I want to have a voice, a unique and insightful voice. But after so much, so long, I still feel like there’s nothing I can say that others have not spoken yet. I still feel like my right place is to sit and listen ‒ not to converse. This feeling of “not there” comes from knowing so clearly that I know almost nothing, compared to the vast knowledge that others possess, not to mention the almost infinite relevant knowledge that exists. And this way of understanding my deficiency has driven me to focus on reading, making summaries, hoarding knowledge as if there’s some exam waiting for me ahead (which has been a habit ground into my bones after so many years of education). This way of understanding has prevented me from developing my voice, from asking myself what I have to say on a subject.

I just seem to realise, today, all of a sudden, that although all my years in CU and Oxford have not been spent in vain, my pursuit of “mastery” has always been flawed. They have invited me to write essays, thesis, dissertation …, with the hope that I develop the ability to think independently and critically. But I’ve approached all of them by painstakingly collecting evidence and arguments from a myriad of sources, and then piece them together in a semi-creative way so that my production would have the appearance of an original work, though deep down I know they’re merely an advanced form of paraphrasing. They’re never truly, in my opinion, my original work. They are never my voice.

Worse is my insistence on creating and maintaining my collection of academic notes, in which 99% are summaries of my readings rather than my reflection. I felt proud of it. I saw them as my gains, my trophies, after having paid such a steep price for them. The process of creating them forced me to understand my readings as deeply as possible. But now I know that I have been such a fool to see the growth of my notes collection as an end in itself, but rather merely as a tool, a step in the path, towards my development of a both critical and sympathetic mind, that can engage with important subjects from deep and diverse perspectives and then, ultimately, speak from a unique perspective ‒ my perspective ‒ that’ll advance conversations in a meaningful and interesting way.

It’s all back to what Erich Fromm has to say about the distinction between “to have” and “to be”. The intellect is defined not by their possession of knowledge, but by a way of life in which they constantly listen, think, and converse, and through which they happen to also acquire a vast collection of knowledge ready to be recalled in their mind. To focus on the byproduct is thus a distorted obsession. In the end, we won’t respect the harddrive (or stone) in The Three-Body Problem that has the whole of humanity’s ever produced knowledge stored (or carved) in it; we respect people who can see what others can’t see, who keep asking and interrogating what others have long taken for granted, and who speak insights so profound that keep inspiring new thoughts for centuries and millennias to come.

This shift implies that my way of reading and notetaking needs to drop its focus on building knowledge summaries, like preparing studying notes for exams, and move towards making conversations with the authors by all means. This means I should read books like attending a seminar ‒ the author and I would take turns to speak, and I’m free to raise doubts, suggest connections with other knowledge, compare the author’s perspective with others’, seek and provide evidence, or simply state my opinion on the subject. While writing these thoughts down is still important, it’s so no because I need to revisit them at a later time (which I never do) nor because I need some proof that my brain has not been spinning in vain, but because writing is the most demanding form of thinking ‒ the process of putting thoughts into words, sentences, paragraphs, essays compels the scattering sparks of ideas to transform into something that conforms to the rules of language. In other words, into something that makes sense.

I should also just pause between paragraphs. There’s always an impulse in me to just keep going, to devour the words without first tasting their meaning. I’ve always been “speedrunning” books, as if the more I read, the more I’ve achieved. What I should try instead is “mindful reading”, very much like mindful eating, where one would chew and enjoy the food rather than pushing them down the throat and mechanically shoving another bite in. It’s going to be harder. My mind would feel bored due to the information slow down. Indeed, at this moment, I struggle so much to stay focused on this sheet of paper (screen), with nothing but space to fill my ideas. I can tell the fast-food like entertainment and information culture has robbed much of my capacity to “sink into” the one thing in front of me. It’s time to re-train my attention and mindfulness.

If I’m asked to picture an intellect, I’d see a comfortably-dressed person, sitting calmly in front of a desk with just a book, a screen, or some papers, and then perhaps with tea or coffee, who’ll then spend much of their night reading and writing. No phones. No urges to chase something else around. Just locked in. For a long period of time. Without even being aware of the time passed. Such is the state of mind that I admire. Such is the way of life that I wish to follow.