I feel like I'm losing the details--not unlike, as a kiddo, hearing the ice cream truck and, instead of taking the whole change purse, gathering all of your change in your hands, spilling it as you race for the door. Like that--I keep spilling details.
But here's the thing--I'm not at all sure of their importance. I list them in my head in the middle of the night, too lazy to write them down (a la the intelligence of the change purse), and by morning, they've gone. I don't think I miss them, but I miss the time I spent gathering them.
So why? Control, I suppose? Easier to sift details through your fingers, despite the fact they could be easily converted into larger currency, taking up less space, less weight. Why else? Well, the whole is awfully big and, if we let ourselves, we feel awfully unimportant, awfully small, awfully helpless.
But I think that's a perspective we can shift. Sure, the brushstrokes are interesting and academically stimulating up close, but only when we step back can we bear witness--and play our own part in--the masterpiece.