Refuge de Bouquetins in Valais, Switzerland.
Contributed by Hans Peter Roersma.
n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one, and may end up being the control for a much wilder experiment happening in the next room.
I read James Wood’s essay On Not Going Home recently and a few lines reverberated through the middle of me as if there was a gong between my ribs and someone hit it. Usually its vibrations are reserved for arguments or betrayals or a need to spring into action; rarely do a couple of sentences…
If I wander ‘till I die,
May I know whose hand I’m in.
And if my home I never find,
Then let me live again.
Chopped my hair. Very happy.
Cruising alongside of the Columbia River Gorge on our way to Portland. #oregon #washington #roadtrip