“All people by nature desire to know,” said Aristotle.

                  He was wrong. Some people like knowing, while others – a majority, I fear – cling to the coziness of their complacent cocoons, where knowing more than necessary is discouraged.

                  Not you, though. I know because you’re here, where all we do is kick the tires of existence, trying to get a sense of who we are. For the tribe of the curious, there’s no end of knowing. But of an infinitude of information, what sliver should we devour – and when is enough enough?

                The more time we have to explore, the more pressing this question. Unlike bodily appetites, intellectual appetites aren’t sated by being fed. The more you know, the more you want to, the more frustrating your limits of time and storage capacity. For me, the reason to dig is to continue digging.

In my career years, job requirements kept my intellect on a short leash. It was all I could do during weekends or wee hours to keep abreast of the news. Retired, I can gourmandize on conundra, even after absorbing the horrors of our hour. Indeed, I must. Too much doom-scrolling saps my will to live. Life, I need to believe, will survive the Nameless One; otherwise, why bother?

So, yes, read, think, learn – but about what and how much? How to allocate our scarce hours? And by what process these determinations? What committee within my brainpan decrees how to spend my mind?

I have no idea.

 I recently completed a little book about Shakespeare’s Sonnets. I had a ball doing it – I’ll share the result shortly – but with all that’s going on, isn’t such attention to a hundred and fifty-four little poems overdoing it? I’m no Shakespeare scholar. Nor do we need more tillage of this well-ploughed terrain. Nor is this likely to prove, even with my pals, a boffo topic. (“Psss, Shakespeare’s Sonnets – pass it on!”)

 I made this because… I wanted to. Obviously! But what made me want to? What promoted this project ahead of countless others?

 The uselessness of the exertion contributed to its allure. No good reason was a good reason.

 I’m also – always – fishing for friends – and this topic is very targeted bait. If you’re willing to schmooze about Shakespeare’s Sonnets, have a seat, you’re my sort of mate.

 I also need Shakespeare – have for sixty-plus years; wherever you find me, a volume of his works – or now, an e-file – is within easy reach. What we desire is part of who we are. Understanding my Shakespeare addiction, I might comprehend myself better.

 And I wanted to grow. In college I chose courses as much for their teachers as their topics. In the word-composing biz, Shakespeare’s tops, way out of my league, but why not reach my highest? Recall that laugh-line from Waiting for Godot?

VLADIMIR:  You're not going to compare yourself to Christ!
ESTRAGON: All my life I've compared myself to him.

 For a writer of English, if Shakespeare’s not Christ, he ought to be.

                   I also love sharing what I love with folks I love. Piquing your interest in this subject, if I could manage it, I’d account a coup.

                 Also, rubbing elbows with genius bestows an almost mystic calm in this howling moment. For all our prosperity and competence, our world seems hurtling in a dire direction. I am tense with dread. Communing with a great artist, teacher, muser, fellow sufferer kindles my fervor and fortifies my hope. If Shakespeare could light our way, why not we, each with our little candle in the windy dark?