Friction is the cost of motion. Technically, anything at rest isn't evolving. Experientially, one can be as still as a lake and motion is still occurring, albeit on a different scale.
The cost of motion is energy. There's always an element of transactional exchange between force and resistance to create momentum. But the benefits aren't necessarily realized right away, that's why we often feel discomfort first before feeling better "outcomes".
This mechanism itself is a good segway into the nature of growth and change. Personally, I'm less confident on systems that promise effortless transformation.
Not that I don't understand their value in terms of motivation and structure. But I think past a certain point, there isn't much substitute for friction to ignite genuine progress.
Without resistance, muscles don't strengthen, minds don't sharpen, and character doesn't develop.
Isn't it a bit ironic that much of our modern existence is more or less designed to revolve around convenience and comfort? Is it even intentional?
What's the cost of energy? I think energy is one of those terms that encompasses a lot of dimensions.
I'm basking on the sun's energy.
There isn't enough energy to power up this device.
His words carried no energy.
My creativity needs fresh energy.
The project lost energy halfway through. She brings magnetic energy wherever she goes.
The conversation died from lack of energy.
My morning coffee is liquid energy.
Energy is basically tangibly intangible, in terms of its essence.
You know it is there but you really can't tell where it begins or ends.
In some ways, this duality of energy—both concrete and abstract—mirrors our relationship with friction.
Perhaps our aversion to friction isn't about the resistance itself but about the uncertainty it represents.
My lazy self would be delighted to discover a frictionless path to growth, even though deep down I certainly know such a path doesn't truly exist.
Life's frictions don't merely consume our energy, there's an element of transformation but in an abstract way that's quite hard to put into language that captures its true essence.
As an example, I think of how a pianist must endure thousands of hours of frustrated practice. Fingers stumbling over keys, mind wrestling with timing, the repeated failure of a difficult passage that needs to be made in the right way.
At a glance, this friction between intention and ability feels like pure energy expenditure with no return. It's borderline wasted effort or poor trade of one's existential capital.
But imperceptibly, through this very resistance, neural pathways form and strengthen over time and the hands learn to flow where they once stuttered.
What was conscious effort becomes embodied knowledge, in that the pianist hasn't simply spent energy, they've transmuted it into effortless mastery.
Nothing valuable comes without this exchange and it is the unspoken contract of existence that what we receive in capability, we first pay for in persistence against resistance.
Friction is the cost of motion.
The cost of motion is energy.
The cost of energy is...?
Resistance and friction are almost like the crucible that transformation demands as its birthright.
Transformation is what allows us to experience friction not as mere cost, but as investment.
We invest in patience with imperfection and reap progress beyond expectation.
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