 You know, as we were starting to do these convenings, and again we've been planning, you know, this sort of string of convenings for a while, it seems like it was central to bring together a group of people that keeps getting talked about but less often talk to, and so I just, again, contextualizing this is why we're all sitting in this room today. Above everything, you have to take that up and champion the rider and defend the rider. Ideally, then you have to believe in the rider, right, and that's going back to the person, so find people who really believe in and stay well. Because I have such an appetite for adventurous work and dangerous work and work that's not necessarily being done, it's celebrating the fact that that play eventually got produced, and not the fact that I discovered it, it's like, yeah, now we're doing something dangerous and sexy and exciting. In the lit office of the future, we will have figured out the work balance between the time-consuming act of digesting plays and the equally time-consuming act of devising ways of communicating to audiences about plays. Perhaps we will realize that this is two different jobs, and if we want one person to do these two jobs, perhaps we should clone her or download her understanding of a play into a nearby computer for implantation in the March 18th. Sometimes it feels like this is the way work is supposed to get on, and yet I from the outside or I from the inside realize that actually there's a million other ways that it happens, and so is this way a waste of my time? Am I being lied to about what the process is of work actually getting produced? And I don't think it's not a lie because work does get done that way, but it's just one of the ways.