His dream was to become a writer, and a particular kind of writer. "I don't care how long it takes me," he said. "I will work for years, all my life if necessary, to write my one book. I can live on my pension until I have finished. But in the end I hope to make a name for myself, in my one small field."

"And what is that?" I asked.

"He hesitated for a moment; then he replied, "Myself. It's a small enough field when you think of the millions of human beings on earth. But looked at in another way, how vast it is, if I can really learn to explore it. It's never been done, this kind of research; I mean, not honestly done. There is a glorious old Montaigne, of course: his essays were all in the field of self-exploration, but my approach will be from a different angle. The others who have tried it, Rousseau among them, were charlatans. They thought too much of themselves to understand themselves. I think nothing of myself; that's why I hope to succeed."

Ch. 6 - Frisbie of Danger Island - James Normal Hall

Link from The Island Chronicles, which I'm finding fascinating. I read the Message Board the other night, which seems pretty equally divided between, "Oh, cool! Have a wonderful time, what a terrific thing, how fun" (which is the camp I fall into) and "Easy for you to do, you're obviously wealthy, how exploitative, once you can't get to a Starbucks you'll be back soon enough, you're an idiot, etc., etc., etc."

Except for a rare few, I almost always regret reading message boards. It seems that too many people feel that it's their obligation and responsibility to bring everyone else down, and to make everyone else as bitter as they obviously are.

I've always thought it would be wonderful to offload all of my baggage and take off for a tropical island. Hasn't almost everyone? How wonderful that someone actually gets to have that experience. It's not me, but that's the way it goes. I don't resent them for it, I admire them. And I'm going along for the (virtual) ride.