Ten years ago, I had a blood clot in my leg. Six months ago, I slipped on ice and sprained my ankle. It still swells, especially in the heat. Because of some combination of that history, genetics, and the general indignities of having a body.

A month or so ago, we were about to leave for a summer barbecue. It was ninety degrees. I was worried about how my ankle looked and asked my wife whether I should wear pants.

She said something like, “Whatever. It’s hot. Wear shorts. None of that matters because we’re all just meat suits full of stardust and electricity.”

She was right, of course.

Not in the sense that nothing matters. More that the things I was worried about, whether someone might notice my ankle (which I had decided was gross and swollen) were very small reasons to make myself less comfortable and less present.

We get one strange, temporary body each. It carries us to barbecues and into rooms with other people. But entropy is a bitch. Everything ends, or at least changes into something else. Maybe that is enough reason to let it be seen, warts and all.

I’ve been thinking a lot about values lately, and about creativity as a way to connect with something larger than our own anxious little self-assessments. Call it God, the Muse, the Cosmos, or something else entirely. I’m not here to settle that question. I’m here to pay attention, make things, and see what happens when we do it together.

The part of this newsletter I care about most is the conversations it opens. If this brings something up for you, reply and tell me. Or send a question. I may take it up in a future issue. If you’d rather stay anonymous, just say so.