Keely Adler

Integrity is loyalty to the ambiguity of my own edges, and permission for you to be blurry too. I do not need precision to know myself, or you. I need room for all of our selves to hold counsel.

There are depths at which ideas of how the world is put together are so integrated into life that they have become invisible. Those are the ones to watch out for. They sustain other ideas, and ideas about ideas. They seem unchangeable. But, pull a single thread loose and the whole tapestry can be reorganized.

To begin to think differently at this

Ideas are living things. I am suspicious about separating the intellect and the emotions. I am more comfortable with them being entangled.

Biology is history is communication. Anthropology is architecture is agriculture is what some old women have known all their lives.

But the world is not made that way. Ideas live into the architecture of culture. They take up residence and make a home. Then they stain the carpets of our minds with spilt drinks. And then one decides to protect itself from outsiders and puts locks on the doors. Ideas are not tidy guests.

What holds anything together? Glue is superficial, so not that. Thread is better, sewing, mending the torn-apart seams of perception—possibly. It is the right question—what is holding it together?—and the question alone might be the source of inquiry. Surely a search for the elegance in a mess of weighted compensations, and river-washed shapings of

For you, a respite of uncontainability.

Close your eyes and imagine the last time you tried to create. Who appeared? What did you hear? Maybe it was a critical parent, a competitive classmate, a teacher’s thoughtless remark, or a line from a rejection letter. Maybe it was a voice of unknown origin that you hear on loop: It’s too late, you’re not good enough, you’ll never get there. Write