Being Human

Maybe this is a little too abstract, but I think…

We’re pioneers.

We’re small, sometimes unimaginative. Our worlds are minimally connected. We don’t really realize how much we could conceivably understand about each other.

We’ve stumbled.

We’ve wasted time wondering why some women don’t wear lipstick, or why some men aren’t afraid to cry. We think about bigger and better ways to hurt people and destroy things. We turn human beings into something less than human.

But we are—all of us—made to make things.

Maybe a lot of things, maybe not so many.

But every single person has it in their power to create something.

A happy thought.

A sweater.

A heart in tree bark.

A skyscraper.

A baby.

A new start where there wasn’t any hope for anything anymore.

I think that’s amazing.

What about you?

What particles do you move and shake by waking up every morning?

What stars are in your eyes when you say or do something new?

Who are you?

Why?

I love asking these questions.

I love it more when people answer them.

I love.

That’s being human.

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