In the basement of my parents’ house there used to be a frame on the wall that held this picture:
It’s the entire alphabet (and the first 10 numeric digits) spelled out in butterfly wing markings. The picture has since been removed—to where, ominously, no one in my household knows—but that image was something I always liked.
Despite it being the sort of thing my friends used to make fun of my family for having whilst we sat in that basement, underage, pre-gaming with Svedka and playing Texas Hold’em, it meant something to me.
To me it represented opportunity.
It intriguingly displayed 26 letters that, when put together in words forming sentences forming paragraphs forming chapters forming books or speeches or communications, in right, wrong or neither ways, in myriad languages, has and does and will define things.
With all there is to say about the alphabet, I’ve come up with one simple truth:
The field is even. We all have the same 26 letters to work with.
Alphas do things with those letters us betas only wish we could.
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