Making a gorgeous noise or a vibrant painting or an energetic protest aren’t only a means toward something else—truth, beauty, justice—they are an end in and of themselves. In fact, these are the things we stay alive for. I think often about how my grandfather got to a point where his body no longer wanted nutrition. As human beings, when we no longer want to be nourished by art, by human connection, when we no longer want to be moved and inspired, that’s when we know we are truly dying.
