i’ve always felt a great distance from the great writers like tolstoy and dostoevsky, their work accessible but their inner toils is what truly interested me. their glory and reputation overshadowing their fallible humanity. however, i attempt to see past that as i wanted someone to relate to in my own struggle for clarity and peace. this book of confessions from tolstoy is one of the most personal, honest works i’ve ever had the chance of experiencing. it’s poetic, yet academic. visceral, but it sits on solid ground. transparent as glass, he doesn’t hold anything back. this felt like a letter from my future self, encouraging me on my journey toward truth, attempting to nudge me in the right direction. this started to bridge the gap between me and him, separated by one hundred thirty-eight years, but it feels like he’s sitting right next to me.

Interesting discussion of philosophy and faith as told through Tolstoy's memoir.

short but really impressive, pushes the reader into a great state of questioning.

Tolstoy trying to figure out the meaning of life. Remarkably similar to my own experiences except I never got to be a successful sinful writer. Haha. I don't feel terribly satisfied with the end of his essay or my (same) current status. Hopefully, there's some step after this.