You might ask what it feels like to get somewhere. Or, maybe, what it feels like to get anywhere. Sometimes the difference seems remote. Like staring at mountains - maybe one stands out, maybe one doesn’t.

What does it feel like to plan a life in your head? I haven’t the foggiest clue. I couldn’t do it if I tried. All seven people in the world who made a plan and stuck to it, I guess they’re happy. Everyone else bounces from hill to hill. Or trudges, if that’s their thing.

Why isn’t life more like television that way? Successful people, good at what they do, handsome or beautiful. All like walking advertisements. I never feel like an advertisement, although the movies have taught me how to swagger and brood. I just never look like Vin or Jake Gyllenhaal - I’m too much me.

Me. There’s a strange thing. What am I? What’s informed and formed me? Where have I come from, and where am I going? Is the me so important at the end of the day?

And why - why do I keep asking questions?

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