The draft of my talk is constantly shifting.
Here’s where I am so far.
Check back often.
I love these moments. The beginning of a story. Anything can happen. My mind begins to wander and reach for meaning. It feels … open.
When I lived in Toronto I could spend hours people watching. People wondering. And I would build massive story lines around the action I saw on the street. In the subway. And from coffee shop windows.
It’s funny how quickly I came to know the characters. Their morning patterns became my understandings of them. From my side of the window I felt I knew them.
What don’t I know about this picture? What do I want to believe I know? What is the danger of building this story too quickly? What message could be obscured by my biases?