I’ve had a rotating cast of heroes in my life, which change based on my mood and the times. Sometimes I imagine them gathered around me—like a dinner party I’ve always wanted to host. This is where the ache of my shortcomings meets a who’s who of historical achievement. There’s something childish, I fear, about maintaining a pantheon of heroes. Who does this past the age of 12? Nobody asks—save in awkward job interviews or second-rate dating sit…
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