I caught myself passing by a genuine situation without stopping and becoming part of it, and’then reproducing the same reality on screen with all my compassion.

When I encountered a drunk man in the street, I followed him—not to help, but to study the way he set his feet down, how his arms hung limp and dangled at his sides.

Other people were objects I could meet and use for professional purposes.

I wiped the tears from the eyes of a character I was playing and walked blindly past tears in my home.

Oh, yes. I saw the dangers. Hesitated. ,

I met an athlete who had reached the top. Heard him talking of his record race when there were tenths of a second between him and the next man. What had he sacrificed for those moments? What did the reverse side of his medal look like? Had he not paid for his few seconds of triumph with days and months and years during which he had had to say no to everything else?

Was this what I was using my new-won freedom for?