For all of my conscious, thinking life, I have been a believer in correctness. I have believed, without doubt, that the universe was just and kind, that an order ran through everything, that in the end, everything would be fair even if it wasn’t, immediately. I saw everything in existence as beautiful, even evil, despair, and death. I was never sure if there was a god, but I was taken aback by certain moments in which I saw something brilliant moving– moments like when I understood the movement of electrons, when I first saw the eye of Jupiter, when I held my niece and baby sisters for the first time, while I bathed my puppy. I was content to worship the higher force that I was sure danced in everything, in science, in poetry, in love. I was absolutely sure that everything was okay. I was absolutely sure that life was great.
That all changed at around 11:30 or so this morning, CDT, when my computer ate the greatest piece of creative nonfiction I had ever written. I have never in my life fallen to my knees and asked, “Why, God?” I say it with the utmost seriousness. I wept. Friends, countrymen, god help me, I wept.