One success I’ve had in my pursuit of self-knowledge is noticing that without exception I’m happier when outdoors, observing and participating in the circle of life. If I had to guess at the environmental origins of this trait (it certainly isn’t shared by everyone) it would be the countless wonderful childhood experiences I had hiking, camping, and being mock-drowned by my older brother. As I became older, however, it became clear that my more lucrative skills were better matched to a demanding indoor environment, where I’m cut off from the bliss provided by fresh air and achieve levels of white-boy lameness most people can only dream about.

Happily, my new apartment is reinvigorating my passion for the outdoors. For the competitive price of $700/month, I enjoy three south-facing windows overlooking a small, forested ravine crawling, buzzing, and flapping with jolly woodland creatures. My doors and windows are always open and I’ve acquired a few plants that sit happily on my windowsill. The delphinium is supposed to be grown outdoors, so I rotate it a quarter turn daily to help it gather sunlight as evenly as possible. My watering scheme consists of a well-aimed turkey baster, itself all that’s left from a sad incident several years ago during which I suctioned the liquefied remains of a rodent from a small compartment in the trunk of my car. Yesterday the first delphic bud blossomed and I clapped merrily. Liquefied rodent, delphic blossom, merry clapping. That’s the circle of life.