From as young as I can remember, I’ve been engrossed in stories. Small ones, grand epics, the stories of men and women that were assailed by conflict but came out on top or failed in the face of it. I always suspected I was of the former group–during my childhood I dreamt of being someone bigger than life, of being a hero and doing the things I wasn’t capable of doing when I was young. I had (and continue to have) a huge amount of pride in the human condition–in the way we handle problems and the ways in which we fail, and more often the ways in which we succeed.
There’s something incredible about it. About how we try–how we fail, how we succeed and persist. It’s the fact of life that allows us, as a species, persist in spite of evidence that might suggest that its improbable that we ever would.
I wouldn’t call myself religious, but if I was, I’d be a huge advocate for some kind of Emperor of Mankind.
Could you imagine that? Someone kind of man god?
