Something like 10 years ago I sat in a sort of sunroom in a lodge in Yellowstone National park and sipped out of a bottle of Jim Beam I'd bought at the general store along with some pens and a souvenir ashtray. I'd intended to daydream and write wonderful things in a red notebook my sister had given me and that I carried with me almost everywhere. But, instead, I watched a moth on the outside of the window trying to get inside for over an hour. It just kept bumping into about a six-inch diameter of glass, over and over again, desperately trying to get inside some small room. Why I wondered, when all it had to do was to turn around- and the entire world was right there.