I admit that I sometimes do things for the wrong reasons. Like starting to play the violin because I liked to carry the violin case around. Like joining the local radio station as a program host, just because I was in love with my co-host. I had problems focusing on anything besides his lush lips during the shows and people who were listening must have been wondering what on earth was going on in that studio. Like going to New York for the sole purpose of eating Chinese take-away from those cool white carton boxes. Like visiting the Louvre in Paris three days in a row, because I wanted to see everything in there and then almost passing out inside, because I got completely over-art-ed (I know that’s not a word). I do what I do, often because it feels right. If I try to explain my reasons to others, I know it does not sound too convincing and it’s hard for them to understand, so therefore I’ve stopped explaining myself.