My brain feels slower. I was recently asked an intelligent question, and I was ashamed to find that not only did I have not much of an opinion or an answer, but I struggled with pushing my mind into an intellectual shape to come to an appropriate answer. Since being home, I've read Victor Hugo, I'm currently struggling through some Faulkner . . . and it grieves my heart to know I'm not getting everything I could be getting.
In listening to an old chapel podcast yesterday by Anthony Esolen, I mourned the truth in what he said -- that our culture is not excellent. Our poetry is self-indulgent and pathetic. My own mind is self-indulgent and weak.
I miss the constant stimulation of college, of being surrounded and challenged by good thinkers. I struggle to think well on my own. I feel like I have to start over to get my thoughts where they should be.