Dear Journal,
A new year always seems like the perfect opportunity to take stock of where I’ve been, who I am, and who I want to become. This New Year's Eve, I find myself returning to one of the more eccentric books in my library, Jean Puget de la Serre’s The Mirror Which Flatters Not (1639), and its unrelenting challenge to confront one’s true self. De la Serre’s metaphor of the unflattering mirror reverberates deeply with me, not only because it forces a reckoning with reality—the unvarnished truths about my character, habits, and intentions—but also because it makes me question whether even the act of reckoning itself can ever be truly complete. A reflection, after all, is not reality; it is an image, a projection shaped by the limitations of the surface that casts it. As I examine myself through this metaphorical mirror, I am left wondering: how much of what I see is authentic, and how much is crafted to satisfy my own expectations of self? This interplay between the reflection and the deeper truth compels me to ask what it truly takes to see beyond the surface, to confront the parts of myself that lie obscured in the shadows of my own design. Yet, as I reflect on the idea of the mirror, I find myself questioning: is even the mirror’s reflection the whole truth? Or is it simply the self I choose to present to myself? What does it truly take to see beyond that reflection?
De la Serre’s observation that, “This Mirrour, which flatters not, represents unto us the deformities of our soules, and makes us see those secret stains which we endeavour to conceal from our selves,” feels particularly relevant. It echoes the Stoic exhortations of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, who advocated for self-discipline and a candid examination of one’s flaws. This year, I want to embody this principle by engaging in regular self-reflection—journaling, yes, but also confronting my inner narratives without the usual filters of ego and justification. My journal itself becomes a mirror, one that I hope will not flatter but instead reveal. Yet I wonder: even as I write, am I not crafting an image of myself that I find palatable? To see truly, to move beyond the comforting half-truths, perhaps I must confront not just what I write, but why I write it.
Another passage from de la Serre strikes me with equal force: “Men love rather to be deceived with a pleasing errour, than to be informed of a profitable truth.” How often have I opted for comforting illusions over uncomfortable truths? Montaigne’s Essays come to mind here, with their exploration of humanity’s tendency toward self-deception. Journaling is not exempt from this danger. The act of writing can itself become a tool of evasion—a way to narrate oneself into a more favorable light, to organize the chaos of thought into something deceptively cohesive. This year, I resolve to embrace truth in all its forms, to prioritize reality over convenience, and to resist the subtle ways that dishonesty—with myself and others—can creep into daily life. But I will also ask: what lies beneath the reflection? Can I find the courage to see it?
Perhaps the most poignant reminder comes from de la Serre’s line: “The world is but a great Inne, where we are to lodge but a night or two, and then to leave it; and yet we make provision as if we meant to dwell there all our lives.” The Renaissance’s preoccupation with impermanence is reflected everywhere in its art and philosophy, and it speaks to a truth I often avoid. Life is transient. The material pursuits, the endless quest for security—they distract me from what truly matters: relationships, experiences, and the legacy of my actions. Yet even here, I must question my reflection. Are the relationships and experiences I value genuinely meaningful, or are they curated to satisfy a narrative of significance? This year, I want to recalibrate my priorities. I want to live more purposefully in the present, knowing that what I do now echoes beyond its immediate context, and to let go of the illusions that cloud my vision of what truly matters.
There’s wisdom, too, in de la Serre’s admonition: “He is truly wise, who can discern the follies of the world, and contemn them; who sees the snares that are laid for him, and avoids them.” This reminds me of Erasmus’s The Praise of Folly, where he critiques societal vanities and extols wisdom as a guiding principle. For me, this means staying focused on what’s meaningful, avoiding distractions, and dedicating myself to intentional, thoughtful living. Wisdom, I’ve realized, requires more than intellect; it requires a willingness to challenge my own assumptions, to question the very framework of the reflection I see, and to engage with the discomfort of not knowing. To see beyond the reflection, I must embrace the shadows it cannot capture.
De la Serre’s celebration of virtue also stays with me: “Virtue is a rich stone, best plain set; learning is wealth to the poor, an honour to the rich, and a support and comfort to all estates.” The Renaissance ideal of virtù—a blend of moral excellence and personal efficacy—resonates here. This year, I want to pursue virtue in both private and public life. Small acts of kindness, a commitment to lifelong learning, and consistent moral integrity will guide me. Yet even here, I wonder: am I pursuing virtue as it is, or as I wish it to appear? Is my kindness truly selfless, or does it reflect the image I wish to see of myself? The pursuit of virtue, I realize, must begin with unflinching honesty—an honesty that extends beyond the surface of the mirror and into the depths of intention.
As I reflect on de la Serre’s work and the Renaissance’s rediscovery of Stoic wisdom, I am reminded that the pursuit of truth, self-awareness, and virtue is timeless. These principles transcend history, remaining vital to the human condition. This year, I hope to live with authenticity and intention, striving not for perfection but for integrity and purpose. Yet my greatest challenge may be to see beyond the reflection, to look past the surface I construct for myself and engage with the reality that lies beneath. If I can do this, perhaps I can carry these ideals into each day, letting them shape not just my goals but my actions. And in doing so remember that a life lived with honesty and virtue is a life well-lived, even if it is one whose truest self lies just beyond what the mirror can show.
Striving always to better know thyself,
Dave