"In this there is no measuring with time. A year doesn't matter; ten years are nothing. To be an artist means not to compute or count; it means to ripen as the tree, which does not force its sap, but stands unshaken in the storms of spring with no fear that summer might not follow. It will come regardless. But it comes only to those who live as though eternity stretches before them, carefree, silent, and endless. I learn it daily, learn it with pains, for which I am grateful: patience is all!"
-Rainer Maria Rilke in Letters to a Young Poet
"Logic and sex." I wrote that in my journal right after I wrote the Rilke quotation. I'm not entirely sure why. It has something to do with my frustration with life's forcing me to logically sort out my daily duties for survival, health, social interactions, work, etc., when at times, I'd like to approach life more like sex: discovering and progressing through instincts and the senses. Logic aids sex and instincts aid navigating life, but I feel logic gets more attention. Probably for the better. But it still makes me squirm sometimes.
Instead of writing an essay, I'd like to write a poem on "logic and sex", but I can't really figure out how to do that right now.
Rilke's words are a comfort, because he says instincts help, and analysis (computing/counting) isn't always best.