He stopped being a writer and became a speechwriter for the mayor's office. And you know, people have kids no matter what, don't they. They had a son and they had her daughter from a previous marriage, a nice old three-story house in Mt. Airy, and then Uncle Sid dropped dead of a heart attack in his backyard chopping down some branches of a tree when he was 52. There's no lesson from this story, it's just an account of the only self-analysis I've ever been acquainted with. We can only be self anything because someone is out there being the other something.
Objectivity requires subjectivity, and vice versa.