Here’s what I think . . .


Portrait of the Artist as a…

Much of what’s in our world is the way it is because we make it so. The rest is by chance. There’s no divine author writing the script, setting the stage, directing the acting, reviewing the performance, critiquing the actors. Dreams, fantasy lives, conversations, day-to-day activities, momentous actions — the world is full of stories. We’re making these stories up; some we think, some we say, some we do. 

Despite the fact we’re making most of it up, the world is mysterious. There’s much we don’t understand, because things happen by chance sometimes, because there’s more than one of us making up stories, because we don’t understand our own story as well as you’d think. Despite the fact that the world is mysterious, everything is understandable, though not in the way geometry problems are. Understanding comes in many forms – surprise, delight, amusement, sweet irony, broken heart, exhilaration, a story, the stuff of life.


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