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I used to think, often, in terms of saving the world. Capital w. This was as young and bright and inexperienced in New York City, surrounded by the young and bright and inexperienced.
I still largely think that this is one of the few noble goals.

But as I sit here in my room, surrounded by the things that occupy my time, a half-assembled bicycle brake, a wounded old turntable in need of repair, shelves of half-read books, a drawer full of paragraphs on loose-leaf, a drawer full of screws and parts, I realize again what I've learned since then: wholes are just collections of parts, parts are just made up of elements.

If you can't fix that turntable with the attention due the world, you can't fix anything any bigger. And if you try to fix the turntable with the stated goal of doing so to fix the world, you will never fix either.

From the one to the myriad things and back again.