My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
They need, it seems, to think we are merely rational, but in essence people are emotional. It is the ability to feel and respond to the feelings of others that makes us different. Without his heart, a person's mind would mean far less.
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