Yesterday afternoon I was in a room of people, most of them friends, some of them strangers, reading through "The Merchant of Venice". Each person read a different role. And the whole thing was brilliant. I found myself looking around me at the other readers with a particular appreciation, because I was in the midst of my own convergence. The creative community had happened. Not a single person in the room was "famous", but every one of them was graced with a good measure of talent—and a few of them with the kind of talent that makes you stop and stare and forget to breathe. (If I say our Shylock was better than Al Pacino, will I be believed?)
This is just to say, again, that I'm very grateful. None of this came about because I said, "Here, let's develop a community." It came about because a few people who loved something very much found the same love in each other and said, "This here! Let us celebrate it!" We find ourselves in good places when we set about celebrating our whole (as in hale, full, well and making well) passions.