Loo who, zuh herr

©2004 James Hilston

"To thine own self be true."

Polonius was a fool
Try as I might to flesh out the above Bardolatrous maxim, I deceive myself all the time. I think I'm doing it this very moment as I type these thoughts. So don't expect to read much that is actually true of me. My wife would read this and say, "Who is this you're writing about?"

Catharsis
At the very least, this vain reflection of my greatness might prove to be somehow cathartic. If even morbid curiosity doesn't compel you to continue reading, please, feel free instead to have a look at the artwork, photography, ephemera, or essays.

... and the bad
Let me start off by saying I've done a lot of rotten and repugnant things in my life. And while it may be of benefit to those closest to me to know and understand what they are, most of my bad behavior has either hurt or somehow adversely affected other people, and need not be put on public display.

Nurture Versus Nature?
Clearly, to me anyway, we are the product of nature and nurture. I can look back on my life and point to a number of pivotal events that made a difference in what I've become. But what am I really? How am I defined? By my profession (I'm a journalist, artist, web designer, aspiring mind-reader)? By my worldview (I'm a compatibilist determinist inerrantist persuppositionalist theist)? By my station in life (middle-class, married, father of three)? Or by my genetic makeup and unique biological, physiological, emotional and intellectual predispositions?

It's got to be all of the above, but it appears to me, especially after having three children, the larger percentage of who and what we are is the result of genetics, and not environment. Maybe I can convince you by what follows. Maybe not. Really I don't give a rip either way. If you're inclined to proceed, I hope you will enjoy some random musings about the life heretofore of one James Alan (Allen?) Hilston.

Chapter 1. Birth

Chapter 2. Death (to come)