I guess I'm happy enough with reality. And if I'm not, it doesn't look like it matters. So I may as well be happy enough with it, even if I have to fake it.
But I'm not faking it, now that I think about it. I'm OK being one pebble in a vast ocean. That's the apparent reality, but according to what I'm also thinking, I'm also the vast ocean looking at the pebble.
There's no need to say, "So and so said that," because you can't improve on truth, so it's as much mine as it is his. Can openers, you can improve on. Garage door openers. The taste of dog food. Insulating houses. Making longer and better extension cords. Have at it, go for it.
But getting away from being the vastness ... that's all well and good ... there's still the daily realizations that you're a pebble in a vast ocean. I've got the four walls I've got and they're different than yours. Just looking around the room. Someone mass produced this keyboard but I've got the one I have. Others are plinking on their own but I'm plinking on this one. Others are writing their version of hogwash but -- modesty prevents me from saying what I'm writing.
I go could out in the back yard and see if the stars are out. They probably are, unless someone put them away. The sky's like a bunch of scattered toys that some tired kid forgot to put away, so if I trip over a star in the middle of the night, I'll burn my foot. Looking up and knowing that you can't really see them any clearer with a telescope gives you a humble thought. Except you are looking, and that should count for something.
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