The most dramatic conflicts are often personal.

The year is August, 1979, and I'm seated at my desk in a bohemian-style apartment on Rue de
Passy, Paris. As is almost always the case, I hold a lit cigarette in the corner of mouth as I read, and
reread out of lack of concentration, observations from an open copy of Blaise Pascal's Les Penses.
The book, which I had, quite literally, read religiously in Vietnam almost 20 years ago, had fallen
from the top of an old shelf at the foot of my bed. It hadn't been opened for years until, I assume,
this very afternoon. In my newfound state of constant relaxation, or rather laziness as I take care of
any leftover administration and prepare to close my final case, I've developed the habit of leaving
the radio on while I read. Not to listen to it, but to have something there for the book to drown out
while I lose myself in its pages. There are, of course, exceptions days like today when I seem to
have lost all faith in the human condition, and Pascal, with his pious aphorisms, appears jaded and
worn-out. On the radio at the present moment is another report about the American-Irani conflict,
manifesting itself this time in the Iranians taking American hostages in Tehran. 'Check,' says Iran.
'Your move, America.' Years and years ago I would have caught myself at such a remark, but I have
no qualms passing such commentary at this present moment, miles and miles away from the tension
and nearing the end of such a chapter of my life. What's more, Pascal maintains that instinct and
experience are the two things which control men's nature. The latter of the two is what also affords
me such flippancy. My experiences have taught me the valuable lesson that the scale of a conflict
global or local, violent or not is superficial and does not accurately reflect its true extent. I have
found myself that the most dramatic conflicts are often those of the mind solitary, internal,
personal.