I found myself in a conversation yesterday while standing outside a Barnes and Noble bookstore, about the essence of joy as it pertains to the admittedly illogical but unavoidable feeling of euphoria and despair associated with the love for a professional sports team and how it compares to the joy that one (and probably only one) can receive from painting the walls of a home in a neutral shade to spend a year observing the seasonal light changes throughout the space before deciding upon a final palate.
I have some very interesting friends.
