Work

It seems to me many of us bring a sense of strain to work, or a sense of need.  On the one hand we are pushed into working by forces outside of us, on the other we are pushed into work by forces within us.

Work, it seems to me, is at its best an interested participation in the unfolding of ones life.  If you dial the right combination, there is glitter, light, and beauty everywhere, even when you are doing the dishes.

Nothing stays the same, so everything happens differently every time.  This is interesting, and, again, a very suitable subject for the virtue of curiosity.

I wish more people were genuinely curious.  I wish, in particular, those who claim to value diversity actually did so.  People are interesting, but not when they are made objects, not when they are reduced to known ciphers, not when they are considered in the aggregate.  Those are dull games for even duller people, and nothing but pain comes from them.