Three books lie open on your desk and a fourth is on the floor where you set it down mid-sentence, meaning to come back. Your Sun lives in the third house, the house of the talking mind and the streets you can reach on foot, the calls and notes and small daily errands of thought, and you come to know yourself by saying things and going short distances. Your voice on the phone is more yours than your reflection. Curiosity is what gets you out of bed, and a sibling, the one you were given or the one you chose, has probably taught you more about yourself than any school did. Here is the catch you already half-know: the bright clever remark comes so easily that it can crowd out the truer sentence underneath, the one you nearly talked over to get to the joke. Speak a little less and finish what you start saying. Try carrying one real question around for a whole year. It will teach you something a thousand fast ones never could.