I always thought a lot about what it meant to be alive. I thought about the degrees of it, the variations, the conditions. There was nothing that interested or troubled me more than the fact of being alive. To me, being alive meant something different than living. When I was thirteen it was opening my bedroom window in a rainstorm, crawling to the ledge of it, and letting my legs dangle out in the rain. Later, being alive meant writing and creating for the aesthetic of it. I thought there was a greater morality in aesthetics than in other pursuits. Being alive also meant traveling for the experience of it. Learning, for the knowledge of it. It meant loving as much and as often as possible because love is life and being in it means being alive. Love is art. Love is something that we create and something that remakes us. Love is an adventure. Love is stepping out into the rainstorm.
*Title from a quote by Anais Nin