You don’t know me

You don’t know me. That’s okay. I’m a person like many other people, and unlike them, too, as they are all unlike each other. I have two eyes and two hands and one abdomen; my body grew like most and is growing older like most. It’s not remarkable. What it is, is unique. My voice is not like any other, and even if you found my exact vocal tones, you would not find it paired with the same personality and combination of experiences and priorities, anywhere. I don’t mean to say that it’s particularly valuable, except as every other voice is valuable. My experiences are my own, and you’re busy living through your experiences. That’s okay. I mean, it’s not a problem, to me. Your experiences might be a problem to you, just as some of my experiences have been exquisitely painful or joyful or clarifying. It’s not like I can just hand them to you, and I certainly can’t fix your problems. Life doesn’t work that way.

What I can do, is tell you what I’m thinking, in the hope that what I say will help you think clearly about what’s going on in your life, and in the hope that I’ll think more clearly, too. I learn so much when I talk, especially when I’m trying to explain something. It’s almost as useful as listening to you talk, or reading something interesting.