Your Own Little World

Sometimes we forget that everyone (including us) is in his/her own little world. We think that at least the people closest to us share the same experiences, have the same feelings, about the same things, but it's not really true. We are there, behind our own eyes, and no one has much idea what's happening behind them. One of the most terrifying thoughts for me is that someday, in real life and not just science fiction, we'll be equipped with some kind of implant that allows us to see into one another's minds. To know without a doubt what other people are experiencing. The terror probably comes from the notion I have that in the eventuality the implants become a reality, there will be no further need for fiction. But it's more than that. I like having my own private world to retreat to. I like the thoughts and things around me that make me who I am. What I value, actually downright love, in no particular order: my mother of pearl opera glasses, my shedding white Border Collies, my Sparky, my Winston Dictionary, my big box full of journals, Crayola crayons (especially the carnation and cornflower and sea green ones), the lavender light in snowy footprints, sweet corn, dancing, Annie Proulx's novels, Alice Munro's short stories, Cajun music, Renee Fleming's voice, the huge blooms of dahlias, Halloween, fireworks, my hands, and on and on. And I'd be willing to bet no other person on earth has the same list of loves that I do. That no person alive has the same list as any other. Or the same list of terrors, or kindnesses, or betrayals. We are steeped in uniqueness, and that's easy to forget. So your happiness assignment for the day is to go deep into Your Own Little World. Make a list of your loves, your longings, your quirks, and love them, because they make you unique. Choose one, and write about it, draw it. Appreciate everything that makes you your own self. And if you find out about research into those implants, do your best to sabotage it, will you?