How the Heart Works: On Whatever the Hell that Was, from an Irrelevant American

The afternoon after I’m at my desk staring out the window.

There are newspapers spread in front of me, from which I should be clipping ads and articles relevant to the arts nonprofit that pays me to do such things.

I’ve draped my profile picture with the French flag filter, and my cover photo now depicts the Eiffel Tower’s stages of construction. I don’t feel any better, but that’s not really what it’s about. I don’t know what any of that is about.

A plane halves the clear sky, right to left, disappearing beyond the frame of the office window, silent the whole way. A white line blooms behind it, then it too disappears. I am left to bloom or not, sitting next to my office plant, the one I’ve managed to keep alive so far.

Just a few days ago I had a conversation about whether people are good or bad, at the root of things. Why do they have to be one or the other? we decided. Now I think maybe they have to be one or the other because knowing would help.

Something has to help.

The Little Prince Stands Alone on a Planet

The Little Prince

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