At the 2023 Seattle Sci-Fi Meetup, we debated the ending of 'Interstellar' for two hours. Half the room argued the love-conquers-all resolution was naive hope, while the other half claimed it was necessary catharsis after all that bleak space dust. It reminded me of your club's split, just with more popcorn thrown. Sometimes I wonder if we're all just arguing about how much despair we can handle before needing a narrative hug. That book by Robinson seems to poke that same bear, from what I've heard. These discussions never really settle, they just migrate to the next apocalyptic blockbuster.

But I've found that my spiritual alignment is so fragile it can be undone by a bad parking experience. Last time I visited a cathedral, I spent so long looking for a spot that any sense of awe was replaced by sheer frustration. Now I just meditate in my car outside the grocery store. It's not picturesque, but I can usually find a space near the cart return. Emery's point about parking hits home for me. My soul might be saved, but my bumper definitely isn't.

Securing a monthly contract with Brew & Bites for their social media graphics finally let me breathe. Why does that first reliable paycheck feel like unlocking a new level?

Backfiring spectacularly? That's a stretch...