there is a certain constancy to my life, from this morning reading in my cabin, a newly minted old man, stretching back to some of my earliest and most persistent memories as a very young child — I have always wanted to know what is real, what is not just my own musings or the disorganized musings of others, but what is actually out there, hiding in other crania and other galaxies. and somehow, through selfishness and good luck, I have managed to be able to do that.
and that has been so satisfying — perhaps even a good definition of happiness — being able to pursue one's own peculiar obsession. it does surprise me that in the end, given the opportunity, we all seem to be so very much our original selves.
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