Explanation separates us from astonishment, which is the only gateway to the incomprehensible. —Eugene Ionesco

I haven’t tracked this down, but I think it was George Bernard Shaw who said humans are cursed with explaining ourselves to ourselves. More often than not, any old explanation will do, as long as it can be woven into the fabric of our ongoing personal narrative.

It is a curse, a burden, a pointless exercise, and more than a habit. It’s an addiction. It separates us from our experience, too. We can’t be both explaining and aware at the same time.

But where—and who—would we be without our explanations? I think that’s one of those questions worth asking.