While I don’t have any heroes, I do admire a few individuals whose ideas seem worthwhile. First on this short list is probably Carl Sandburg, the renowned twentieth-century poet/lecturer/songwriter extraordinaire who spent the last third of his life on a huge tract of land in Flat Rock, North Carolina, a tiny town nestled away in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Sandburg is the mastermind behind two ingenious anecdotes by which I try to live my life:
One of the greatest necessities in America is to discover creative solitude.
and, for when one is just not in the mood for isolation:
I doubt if you can have a truly wild party without liquor.
The National Park Service wasn’t lying: you’ll never find a truer American than Carl Sandburg.
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