Sometimes the best experiences are hidden in the worst situations.
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My sister faced her death with tremendous dignity.

We all had known, since her beginning, that the disease would take her life. Not all of our bodies are formed with perfect organs. Her imperfections were given the name 'diabetes', and inflicted on her a lifetime of unpredictable disorientation, depression, injections, restrictions ... and a growing list of complications adding ever more medications, routines, treatments, obstacles.

When the most recent development drove her failing body into terminal illness, she did not despair. She gave each of the precious friends of her life a final, private message. For each of us, she gave inspiration from dire minutes, living into the last hours with joy despite obvious pain.

She overcame the pain, and the obstacles, and grew to live with an aura of freedom rare in those with greater advantage. Despite it all, she was free. She was wild. She was innocent.

In her words: It's not about you, it's the experience.
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I walked 100km for charity. My feet hurt but my heart was happy.
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Either some nightmares are real, or some realities are nightmares.

I live within an urban landscape, a city evolving with terrible inertia, a mobile weight of millions of lives invisibly interconnected. It's an engine of destruction, tearing its fuel from the natural world, grinding its way from sunset to sunset.

Within it, who is free? Who is innocent? Is it possible to survive it without succumbing to the conforming ignorance of our social games, becoming another consumer, interchangeable one with the next, a forgotten face in a series of grasping, labouring crowds?

I feel helpless against the weight. My instincts cry for latitude, for space around my limbs, to do something, to do anything, to press on the brake, to stop the car before impact.

But I am of the world, a passenger pulled by the engine. I am enraged by my feeble arms, hostile to myself and hurtful to those I love. In a fury, imprisoned by practicalities, aware of my cruel weakness and self-deception. I am not free, nor wild, nor innocent.
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In Paris, the museum Les Invalides contains many mysteries and grand examples of French military history. Throngs visit the Tomb of Napoleon and view the magnificent costumes and uniforms on display.

Hidden away, in the top floor, is a quiet gallery accessed by a wooden stair. It ranges the length of the building, darkly lit and calm.

Within, there are a series of tables, arranged in a single row, each surrounded by protective glass. Inside the glass, panoramas lie open to view. Each one a wealth of detail, depicting in miniature landscapes and cities, rivers and fields.

Two hundred years ago, Napoleon and his Generals would have stood there, and planned their campaigns and sieges. Time before, the Sun King's ministers would have done the same.

Maps, and yet not maps. Gentle contours rise and fall, tiny trees immobile, homes the breadth of a finger. With this tiny art, ever so carefully constructed, what craftsmen had built by hand, that I held still to see.
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Things have been going my way for a few years in terms of my work, and I've never had a job I enjoyed more. As I see it, the pay allows me to do the job I want -- I'm not there for the money. Getting out of bed and going to work is a positive experience, which must make me a rare animal.

My job is a mix of teaching, sports, project management and leadership. I'm good at it, and I'm planning to stay with it.

I'm always learning and often surprised at how naive I still am at my age. One of those guys who trusts too easily, gets too serious, doesn't see the boundaries. I'm an introvert, I suppose, confused by people who want to be the center of attention.

I'm messaging you because I'm looking for an interesting conversation.

If that leads to a closer relationship, these things will be true:

You've got some kind of motivating goal, something you need to achieve.

You have a future, with accomplishments we can celebrate together.

You are passionate, and prefer affection to entertainment.

I don't often enjoy commercial environments. Crowds make me nervous. Shopping is a drag.

Despite that, there are many interesting activities in the city, we can find out what we might both like to do.

If you're interested, we can meet over coffee and find out if there's anything to go on.

I'm not looking for a pen-pal. You have to be willing to cross the line at some point.