Chekhov said, put two people in a room and drama will happen. But what drives this binary force? Is it the voice and ghost of family and friends that ride our shoulders as we stride into the room? Is it the knowledge of experience mapped on our faces? Do the clothes of who we are project the self; accent it; clash with it? Does the lilt of our speech rasp, or harmonize? And what if you take away that second person, and delve into the internal conflict of self? Then, what if you take away the room. This is what war does to us. Yet we survive. We go on? We find life not in spite of death, not through death, nor because of death. We find life because it is the path to our end. And you can?t know it without knowing life. So, find life.