I live in Los Angeles now so I saw a lot of people in real life that I had only seen on TV before. It was weird. First it was elating, and unbelievable, and exciting. And then it was just another human being talking.

I spent some of the time amused (these were comedy shows). I spent a good amount of the time questioning why I was there. I spent even more time trying to figure out how some people decide that their opinion is worth hearing and about the requisite bravery/deep starvation for attention that compels them to get up in front of strangers. I felt a kinship with these people because I too, write on the Internet and make videos because I think I have something worth saying. I can’t imagine someone meeting me on the street and being shellshocked because of it.

Being so close to these people felt very pedestrian. (As a carless person, I feel the irony of using that word negatively.) Yes, it felt like the “magic” of Hollywood was being erased. Instead, I saw this world for what it is.

We’re just gathered around the campfire, telling stories to each other. The campfire changes, now it’s a stage or a theater. The people speaking and listening live and die. The characters change. But the stories stay the same, as does our desire to hear and to tell them anew.

And always, without fail, the story concludes. If we’re lucky, satisfyingly, and we arise to go back to our day. Working, cleaning, building, traveling, but still holding those stories, tucked in the back of our mind as we go. I suppose there’s a magic in that, too.