So every once in a while, I need to clear my head and clear out of town. I need to sit in the middle of silence, stare at the bark of a tree, listen to the pine needles, inhale and let that breath infuse my body.
Just when I thought we were making tracks. Every time I stretch, I discover there’s more stretch to go. It’s one thing to swallow my pride and listen attentively to people I don’t expect to agree with.
Driving through Beverly Hills yesterday, a large metal sculpture on the median strip caught my eye. From several blocks away, it looked to be a perfect red circle mounted against a white backdrop.
The power went out in my neighborhood yesterday. It was three-thirty in the afternoon when a transformer blew. Everything came to a halt. No light, no internet, no air conditioning, no microwave, no TV, no hot water for the shower, no landline.
Imagine. It’s July 4, 1776. You live in Philadelphia. You’re twenty-five. You hang with Betsy Ross, who is 24, Alex Hamilton, 21 and Tom Jefferson, 33. It’s an exciting time, it’s a wild ride. You have a vision for a new form of government. Like Abe would later say—of the people, by the people and for the people.