I am determined to lift myself up above this strife, but that does not imply that my success is pre-determined, nor that determinism is a valid universal entity. Perhaps determination exists on a personal level but determinism does not exist on a universal level. Or maybe it does, despite quantum fluctuations and probabilistic behaviour on the level of the incomprehensibly tiny. Determination and determinism, where is the connection between these two. Clearly they are linguistically related. This stream of consciousness, is that more closely related to the I-AM than is other writing? I think not. Enough! I need to get back to existing.
So, I bought this potted fern. It’s wilting, no matter what I do. But I keep trying. I water, I prune. We’re both holding on—me to my fern, the fern to life. There’s something oddly inspiring about that.
In the face of a relentless storm, a small cactus stands sentinel in the arid wild. A testament to tenacity, it thrives, mocking the drought with a vibrant bloom.
Every morning, Miss Clara straps on her worn-out shoes and greets her reflection. Her lips curve upwards in a brave smile, staging a tiny revolution against the mirror’s cold scrutiny.
There’s a kind of resolve in a bar-room brawl, two men testing their limits, punching and being punched. Amidst spilled whiskey and bruised knuckles, it isn’t about winning; it’s about the fight.
A single bead of morning dew clings to a leaf’s edge, persisting despite the sun’s insistence. This tiny world holds its ground, fighting a radiant giant, a ballet of resilience echoing in the microcosm.
Imagine a jester, full of gleaming tricks, submerged in a sea of somber faces. He juggles, he dances, weaving a humor-laden defiance against the world’s granite face.
With determination in her heart, Alana took a step forward into the living room and cleared her throat loudly. “Shaun, can I steal you away for a sec?”
He nodded, setting his mug down on the coffee table. As he stood and began to walk toward her, Alana tried her best to even her breathing. She could do this. It was long overdue.
Even if he rejected her…Shaun deserved to know that she was in love with him.
I am determined to lift myself up above this strife, but that does not imply that my success is pre-determined, nor that determinism is a valid universal entity. Perhaps determination exists on a personal level but determinism does not exist on a universal level. Or maybe it does, despite quantum fluctuations and probabilistic behaviour on the level of the incomprehensibly tiny. Determination and determinism, where is the connection between these two. Clearly they are linguistically related. This stream of consciousness, is that more closely related to the I-AM than is other writing? I think not. Enough! I need to get back to existing.
Determination
Bases on what you think and what you see your determination of things change
So, I bought this potted fern. It’s wilting, no matter what I do. But I keep trying. I water, I prune. We’re both holding on—me to my fern, the fern to life. There’s something oddly inspiring about that.
In the face of a relentless storm, a small cactus stands sentinel in the arid wild. A testament to tenacity, it thrives, mocking the drought with a vibrant bloom.
Every morning, Miss Clara straps on her worn-out shoes and greets her reflection. Her lips curve upwards in a brave smile, staging a tiny revolution against the mirror’s cold scrutiny.
There’s a kind of resolve in a bar-room brawl, two men testing their limits, punching and being punched. Amidst spilled whiskey and bruised knuckles, it isn’t about winning; it’s about the fight.
A single bead of morning dew clings to a leaf’s edge, persisting despite the sun’s insistence. This tiny world holds its ground, fighting a radiant giant, a ballet of resilience echoing in the microcosm.
Imagine a jester, full of gleaming tricks, submerged in a sea of somber faces. He juggles, he dances, weaving a humor-laden defiance against the world’s granite face.
With determination in her heart, Alana took a step forward into the living room and cleared her throat loudly. “Shaun, can I steal you away for a sec?”
He nodded, setting his mug down on the coffee table. As he stood and began to walk toward her, Alana tried her best to even her breathing. She could do this. It was long overdue.
Even if he rejected her…Shaun deserved to know that she was in love with him.