Do you remember the first time you looked into a microscope, how at first you saw only a blur, but then managed to twiddle the focus knob until all of a sudden something that was invisible before that moment sprung into focus and you could actually see microorganisms, or the cells of a plant, or the cells of your own skin?
When have you had the revelation of some part of your life suddenly springing into focus and making sense?
Actually, just yesterday. We moved to a small town in Arizona because it was restful and charming and not too far from Phoenix. At the end of June a massive fire 25 miles from us took out much of Yarnell and FEMA has refused to donate anything to help them out. As my husband and I try to publicize that loss, two residents of Yarnell tell me they don’t want that money: one because she hates the President and one because he hates the government. Only then did I realize that people who live in small remote towns do so to avoid being touched by outsiders. All these years we’ve struggled with the intolerance and narrow-mindedness of Wickenburg, and finally we can see that we walked right in and, unknowingly, chose it.