A loooong time ago, when I was in junior high, I was riding back to school from some band-related something-or-other. I had the whole bus bench to myself, so I was stretched out with my back to the window, my legs hanging into the aisle. As was usually the case, I was reading a book. It was late afternoon, and just as we reached Las Virgenes Road on the 101, the sun slipped lower than the hills around us.
The words on the page in front of me grew darker, so I pulled my knees up and positioned my book closer to my face. More light dwindled away, and before long it was impossible to read anything. I remained fixed in my position though, still staring intently at the page.
Why am I staring at this page when I know I can't read it? I wondered.
After thinking about it for a moment, I realized that I was expecting some sort of light to shoot out from my eyeballs and illuminate the page.
Honestly? I asked myself. You were really expecting that?
I searched deep within myself and found that yes, that is exactly what I had been expecting. For as fixed as my gaze was, however, it didn't work: no beams of light were emitted from my eyes.
What a let-down for a junior high kid.