4. Why Do We Want What We Want?

The pigeon doesn’t stand a chance—or so he thinks.
Closer, closer…closer.
Yeah right! The pigeon knows better.

The boy doesn’t give up and charges after it joyfully.
I smile and think of my own kids.

It’s always loud here in the plaza—buses arriving, people speaking all kinds of languages, kids running after pigeons.

On my breaks, I like to walk and go get a snack in the city.
That boy is making me think about what I chase.

Why do I want what I want?
Why do I want specifically those things and not others?

And exactly what part of me decides what I want?
Is it my brain, or my past, or my genes?

It would be so nice to call a divine being and get a response like: “Hey man, in this life you have to struggle with art because you didn’t do much of that in your past life.”

Or a scientist who tells me: “Hey man, you want what you want because your parents combined in precisely the right bizarre way. That’s why you make music. Come here, let me explain.”

But the monk and the scientist never show up.
No one can explain to me why I want what I want.

I start speculating. I start philosophizing—and by the time I’m done, I’m right where I started: with no concrete answers.

Now I have to go back to work. Back to work without answers.
The kid wants the pigeon. I want to know why I want what I want.

Neither of us catches what we think we want.
But the chase…the chase…there’s something about it.