Your past is just a story. And once you realize this it has no power over you.

The photographer in my head says: Give me peace. Flash. Give me release. Flash.

I wanted to destroy everything beautiful I'd never have. Burn the Amazon rain forests. Pump chlorofluorocarbons straight up to gobble the ozone. Open the dump valves on supertankers and uncap offshore oil wells. I wanted to kill all the fish I couldn't afford to eat, and smother the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted the whole world to hit bottom.

An important part of building a new culture was allowing people to complain about their past. At first, the more they complained, the worse the past would seem. But by venting, people could start to resolve the past. By bitching and bitching and bitching, they could exhaust the drama of their own horror stories. Grow bored. Only then could they accept a new story for their lives. Move forward.

The world will always punish the few people with special talents the rest of us don’t recognize as real.

The little boy smiled back at all the angry faces glaring in at him. And the little boy blew kisses.

When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves.