This has happened to me several times, apparently because of the way I walk.
I don’t mind it much, though on a rainy day it soon wets the socks.
But the wetness keeps me in touch with reality,
and as the limo drives by with its air-conditioning or climate control,
I like to think that there are those out there less in touch with the realities of life
by virtue of being insulated from them.
I know this view can be challenged. The philosopher, who has just published his book on the Meaning of Meaning, will ask me what I mean by reality. To which I would reply that I mean by reality what everyone else means by it.
The particle physicist would no doubt do the same. It may look like sunlight
to you, sir, but really, it’s a stream of photons – which are either particles or waves depending on how they are observed.
Nothing is as it seems.
As for the affluent, they might reasonably argue that their way of life is every bit as real as mine, and how can I hope to evoke it in Chapter 19 if I have no experience of it?
Good point. All I can hope to do is imagine what it might be like from what I read
in newspapers – and newspapers cover these people most frequently when things go wrong. They like nothing better than an acrimonious divorce, in the course of which many details of how the rich live come out in court proceedings. Their failure opens a window on their lives. Henrik Ibsen was a great one for studying newspapers.
But conceding all this, I like to keep my feet on the ground:
if they get wet in the process, too bad.