Then there is the magic renewal. This is a miraculous thing: when you think all inspiration has flown from you, there is splashed upon your spirit the waters of life. This is what it means to be alive: we grow tired of the greatest things, only to find newness in what is common. We must find inspiration where we can, even in things we would not be proud of, even in the hidden thoughts that no one but we will ever know — but if they yield some insight into the condition of being who we are, then we find meaning where we perhaps thought we wasted something of ourselves. For we know we are sinners, and that nothing that comes from us is free from blemish, but even the imperfect acts we purpose can be of true significance, and nothing, if it comes to it, is ever wasted. For we out of nowhere can experience magic, that sense that something right has come from the randomness. That we were meant to be here.