I went on a second date that was scheduled to last two days straight. We hit it off at a blackjack table in Atlantic City and arranged to meet back at the casino hotel some weeks later for a weekend together. She was a divorced mother of teenagers from the Philly suburbs. I was a 30-year-old struggling entrepreneur from exploiting cheap weekday casino room rates to Airbnb my apartment. So, we began our double-day date, and she did most of the talking, as is typical with me on dates and with me in general. I don’t talk much, and I will encourage others to carry the conversation to the extent that they are willing.
But on day two of this weekend getaway, somehow, we got on the topic of the nature of existence. I probably brought it up, as sometimes I do. She followed up my remark with a question, then another. I guess I got too excited, because, on a wild whim, fueled by liquid courage, I proposed…
…that she hear my theory on the origin of consciousness. And she said yes! So, I delivered my convoluted theory about how consciousness came into being, starting with the initial spark of life and ending with our ability to have this conversation on this hotel room bed at all. There was a lot to cover, so it took me a good twenty minutes to get through.
She listened intently, and when I concluded my theory, she summarized what she learned, ''So that’s how I get you to start talking! I ask you about existential stuff!''
