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.
We can still think the intensity with which we respond is the more essential part, that if we grimace and shout or run very fast in so many circles we are accomplishing something or are seeming to. Seeming can suffice.
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