I am someone who attaches easily and strongly, never gives up, and pushes through many obstacles, even if I tire or get scared or hurt. Perseverance comes naturally to me. Letting go does not. And herein lies where I've gotten my biggest life lesson.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asks. "How 'bout the meaning of life?" I reply. Without hesitation, he tells me, "That's two aisles over, middle shelf, in a small can!"

I thought I'd cured myself of my chronic "foot-in-mouth-itis" -- that is, saying things to people based on assumption, being totally wrong, then feeling like a jerk. But alas, it lingers.

Driving, I'm like a bow being pulled across the strings. Now, I am in the rondo, the third movement, where things that used to matter don't and things that never mattered do; where the mundane appears vivid and even the simplest, most ordinary routines become holy.

I reach out to shake his hand, and he grips my forearm as I grip his. I go to my car and find a dollar in the tray, which I give to Ra, though never did he ask for it. As I drive out I see him mounting his bicycle, ready to ride on now that I'm safe.

Our thoughts are the only thing that separate us from having every single thing we could ever want.

I had an experience with a friend recently that revealed just how much of our backstory we bring into our interactions, and how little we know about the backstory of others.

To an actor or director, subtext is a word for all the unspoken thoughts, feelings and motivations a performer brings to his or her role. Subtext is always unspoken, yet it is the most eloquent aspect of an actor's performance, coloring every speech and action.

But then I thought, even if "Call Me Maybe" was my favorite song ever, and even if I believed that I would never tire of it, there would eventually come a point where I could no longer tolerate it. Then I started thinking about death.

Do too much watching and not enough experiencing, and you wind up looking in the window of life or the smart phone.