I think that people are mostly good. I think the world is—generally—becoming a better place, and that we have the capacity to fix most of the problems that ail our society. I think that one day mankind will take to the stars and that our stories will long outlive our little star. I’m a hopeful person.
At the same time, it’s hard not to succumb to despair, be it the petty kind that you might feel each time Donald Trump appears on national television, or the existential kind that you feel when you’re in a crowded space (Times Square might as well be a black hole on the face of the earth). If there’s a word for the simultaneous feeling of hope and despair, it’s in a language that I don’t speak—or one that I have long forgotten.