Quiet, Please.

We drove through tunnels, as I have said. Through the broad, excavated bellies of proud hills.



We had hours to talk, and hours to think, and that night, later, unable to sleep, I thought about what it is that I want from a life that runs so far ahead of itself, away from me, beyond my control. From Life itself, that so often ends too soon, abruptly, calamitously, without second chances.



I want to be believed in, I decided.



I want to stand in fewer shadows.



I want to be worthy of my own aspirations—not for fame (never for fame), not for riches, but for work done exceedingly, memorably well.



I want more quiet in which to do the work that I wish to leave behind.