Bearing Reality: Thinking About Thinking Part III

What I Missed

In the last post, I looked at what my highlights said about how I think. But what I didn't highlight tells just as much of the story. The things I skipped, skimmed, or didn't mark. Those silences carry meaning too. To really understand how our minds work, we have to look at both what we notice and what we pass over.

What grabs our attention shows what we value. What we ignore shows what we prioritize. Sometimes we skip things because we're avoiding them. Sometimes, because we don't have the energy. Sometimes, because it just doesn't feel important. And sometimes it's about purpose; about the direction we're heading in life. (More on that in a minute.) Looking at what I missed isn't about beating myself up. It's about getting clearer. It's part of the practice of paying honest attention to my own thinking.

Omission as Information

We often think skipping something means we messed up. In school, it's carelessness. In therapy, it's pushing feelings down. In life, it can feel like fear. But skipping isn't always bad. Our brains have to be picky. We only have so much attention to give. Energy comes and goes. Some things just matter more in the moment.

Skipping can actually show loyalty. It can protect us, saving our focus for what's still hard or unresolved. Or it can point to our bigger purpose or telos, what we're aiming for in life.

(Quick note: What's teleology, in case you've not heard the word before? It's a fancy term for the idea that things are directed toward a purpose or goal. It comes from a Greek word meaning "end" or "purpose." In everyday life, it means we pay attention to stuff or make choices because of the kind of person we're trying to become or the bigger good we're working toward, not just because of what's happening right now.)

When I looked back at what I didn't highlight, it felt more like smart choosing than fear. I wasn't dodging the good stuff. I just didn't need to dig into it. I wasn't avoiding easy things. Easy things didn't challenge me. My skips had their own reasons.

Categories of Absence

A few kinds of things stood out because I didn't mark them. First: comfort without any real cost. Passages that say suffering can just be soothed away, or that hard things are mostly emotional blocks. I don't have much patience for "quick fix" comfort. Real comfort can't replace real growth. If something offered relief without asking me to change or take responsibility, I moved on.

This came up clearly when I was reading Jordan Peterson's chapter on chaos and order in 12 Rules for Life. My highlighter jumped right to his definition of chaos: "where we are when we don't know where we are, and what we are doing when we don't know what we are doing... all those things and situations we neither know nor understand." That line got purple ink. Right below it, though? Nothing. He describes order as explored territory: tribe, religion, hearth, home, country. The warm living room with the fireplace glowing, kids playing, the value of money, the floor under your feet, your plan for the day. None of that got marked.

At first, I thought it was because order felt too comfortable; no friction, no need to think. But when I looked again, something deeper hit me. I didn't highlight it because I didn't really believe in that kind of hearth and home back then. On the outside, my childhood looked like that. But the real experience was very different, disconnected. So those warm, secure images felt uncomfortable. Almost unrealistic. They stirred up the gap between what I was told life was and what it actually felt like. Highlighting them would have meant facing that old pain, so my mind protected me by focusing on chaos: the unknown stuff that actually needed figuring out instead.

Another category I skipped: optimism without any real effort. Sections promising good things will happen without sacrifice or hard work. Hope that costs nothing starts to feel like wishful thinking, not real virtue. It talks about feeling good instead of becoming good. I passed it by because it seemed incomplete.

Then there was emotion without any bigger direction. Some books say just naming your feelings is enough to change. But feelings without purpose don't give you a path or meaning. I didn't mark passages that treated sharing emotions as the whole goal, instead of something to work with for growth.

The same pattern showed up in Robert Sapolsky's Behave. I highlighted his points about willpower being a limited resource and frontal neurons being "expensive" and vulnerable. But the everyday examples around them, like resisting cookies or learning not to pee whenever you feel the urge, got no ink. I went for the deeper explanation (self-control has a real biological cost) instead of the lighter, relatable stories.

Other things I avoided: ideas that "healing" just means being nicer to yourself, dropping all demands, or saying yes to every desire. Those ideas feel too simple. They shrink the person down to just their current feelings. They don't leave room for the bigger picture of who we can become.

And finally, sentimentality. Comfort without real connection, compassion without responsibility, hope without sacrifice. It promises quick relief but doesn't change anything lasting. I skipped it fast, not because I hate comfort, but because comfort that doesn't lead anywhere feels empty.

These skips weren't mistakes. They lined up with the direction I'm heading. They showed what I think is worth digging into and what feels like decoration.

Avoidance and Loyalty

Avoidance gets labeled as fear a lot. And sometimes it is. But it can also be loyalty to what's important. Skipping sentimentality protects seriousness. Skipping easy comfort protects real responsibility. Skipping surface feelings protects deeper growth.

It can also just be about limits. No one can think about everything at once. We save our energy for what really needs it. Hard things ask more of us than easy ones. Suffering asks more than happiness. Friction asks more than smooth sailing. The parts I didn't highlight were often things that already felt settled; no extra work needed.

In other words, avoidance isn't always running away. Sometimes it's choosing what matters most. It's a map of what's still unfinished in me and what I need to revisit.

Joy Recovered

One big thing missing from my highlights was joy. But that doesn't mean joy wasn't there. It was all through the reading. Joy just didn't need to be marked. Joy shows up in the doing, not in the puzzling. Suffering makes us ask questions. Joy says, "Yes, this is right."

My joy doesn't come from escaping hard things or getting quick comfort. It comes from showing up: learning, wrestling with tough ideas, taking responsibility for what I need to carry. Joy points toward purpose. It grows when I'm moving toward something good, even if the road has suffering. It's not about rejecting happiness, it's about not separating joy from meaning.

Plainly put: my joy isn't weak. It doesn't depend on things being easy. It's found in carrying what belongs to me. The fact that joy didn't get highlighted shows it wasn't the thing I was studying. It was the result of my studying.

Suffering as Interrogative

If joy says, "This is good," suffering asks, "What now?" Suffering brings questions: Why do I have to carry this? What do I need to do? What do I need to give up? What do I need to change? Suffering pushes us toward purpose. It doesn't just hurt. It teaches.

Suffering only turns dark when it loses its purpose, when there's no bigger good to aim for. Then it becomes despair. But when it has meaning, suffering shapes us. It builds strength, endurance, and responsibility.

Suffering isn't the enemy of joy. Often, it's the ground where real joy can grow. Joy shows that the suffering wasn't wasted.

Absence as Invitation

Blind spots aren't character flaws. They show what we haven't learned to carry yet, or what we didn't think needed attention. Skipping things marks the line between what's familiar and what's still waiting to be worked through. It invites us to look closer, without forcing guilt.

Noticing what I missed reminds me that growth needs both challenge and rest. Without joy, growth gets brittle. Without suffering, joy stays shallow. Without real effort, hope turns into wishful thinking. Without responsibility, kindness turns into letting ourselves off the hook. The skips show where things are out of balance.

Seeing what I missed helps me see what still needs to be included to make my thinking whole and livable.

Toward Method

Attention and what we skip together build the structure of how we think. Attention shows what needs wrestling. Skipping shows what's already settled or still too much to handle. Together, they guide us toward orientation, toward what's true, what's needed, and what's worth the hard work.

Orientation isn't a feeling. It's not a final answer. It's not being 100% sure. It's the steady choice to turn your mind toward reality: what's real, what's required, and what's worth suffering for. Before it becomes how you live, it has to become how you think. Before it becomes action, it has to become a method.

Next time, I'll lay out that method; how attention, skipping, digging in, and pointing toward purpose come together to help us face reality instead of running from it.

Orientation doesn't just happen. It has to be learned.