I’m thankful that I have no desire to write the Great American Novel, whatever that term means to others. For me it is something too grandiose in scope to circumscribe my reality, too self-centered for any true enrichment, and too limiting to tap into the vast reservoir of subjects that interest me. I have no attachment to the notion that others can find their own meaning in persons, times, and places that I might describe but never were; nor do I suppose that I can help others to immerse themselves in introspection and rise up with a new and profound realization about themselves through a crude description of my universe. No, a short poem is more my style, one that undeniably finds a place where we have all visited and that reaffirms that there is no single way out of moral dilemmas that must meet the demands of clerics, or soothsayers, or anyone else. Poetry has no need for moral certitude; it does not presume to be manna from heaven. It illuminates without preaching; it entertains without hurting others; and it lasts for a very long time when it is written well. Discovering ourselves requires self-discovery and that means we must live it. Poetry is like a sidekick, an old friend that accompanies us wherever we go, whatever we do, yet it tells others who we are. Poetry is life.

I also like a hard-hitting essay that focuses my energy and forces me to think clearly from beginning to end. There is a certain joy in finding connectedness and cohesion in thoughts that minimize ambiguity, and that flow with the grace of a symphony in full bloom. Facts carry clarity and authenticity; measurements and observations arise from what we can see and hear and discern rationally; validity is rooted in proposing a slightly modified version of reality that we can live with until a better idea can replace it. Essays teach us most of what we think we know about life.

We know too little to be too serious about this thing we call life. Laughter is our best defense against this limitation. A belly laugh is worth a cabinet full of medicines. Humor disarms awkwardness, it lightens the load, it allows us to acknowledge our frailties, and it lets us release our pent up emotions together. It allows us to celebrate in a commonality of purpose that has no peer. Yes, afterward, we go back to the stoic life while always looking forward to the pleasure of making fun of ourselves soon without the need to apologize. Laughter helps us to find ourselves in a universe that is too big to grasp.