In writing, the task is always (and ever will be) about caring, about giving a darn about something, caring enough to put something down just as it is. And so is the writer something of a perpetual outsider, for caring about things when other people, or even people in general, do not care about them. People not caring? How is this possible? Because in their survival they fall to care about materialistic things, in that they look not at the substance of a person or a thing but rather how that person or thing is perceived by everyone else. People start to care about appearances and get taken in by the great convenience of doing so, finding it a practical short-cut.

JFK was right, in many ways, in saying that 'perception becomes reality.' So was he burdened. And yet, he cared. He was 'a Christian,' is one sense of him.

Hemingway cared. (He cared about cats, even.) You can see it in his writing.

Who would bother to be a writer? Why bother? Why trouble yourself, realizing there is no pay-off beyond the accomplishment of the work itself? No, you'd only pick up a pen if you cared, if that was the very primary thing about you, as the great thinkers have cared, the Jesuses and the Buddhas.

Are good deeds restricted only to the wealthiest, the only significant acts that of the mighty philanthropic? Are the wealthy the only ones capable, worthy really, of caring in an effective and meaningful way?

We pay attention too much to the wealthy and the famous, the celebrated.