Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

when I should be sleeping . . .

Each of us results from the unique combination of mother’s egg, father’s sperm, and uncountable social and historical factors. And we are not only unique, but completely contingent. None of us could have been conceived a day earlier or later: Literally, biologically, we would have been different people, not ourselves.

We experience the uniqueness, but the contingency is emotionally foreign -- it’s inconceivable. It’s inconceivable that we might not have existed. The uniqueness, by contrast, feels divinely inspired. The contingency humbles.

When I was younger I thought I had innumerable chances, but as middle age settles in, hopefully for a long stay, I see now that I only ever have one chance.

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