For reasons that still elude me, we humans are perpetually trying to be understood. That's the origin of the arts, see. Self-expression, if you will. Here's the catch, though: it can't happen. Our attempts to understand each other are feeble, faithless, laughable, and completely in vain. There's some sadistic unwritten law that says that.
We cannot promise to understand, because we never will, not fully at least. The only thing we can promise is to love, unconditionally. For those who are new to this world, who have not yet attempted, in futility, to comprehend its workings, I give you this:
"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind."
If I could meet any one person in the chrono-synclastic infundibulum, it would be Kurt Vonnegut.