Epstein who? This happens openly!
Heartbreaking documentary- "Dancing Boys of Afghanistan"
Heartbreaking documentary- "Dancing Boys of Afghanistan"
π3
Here's to being as old as we are.π₯ Here's to staying.
Some have left us. By chance, by choice. We carry them or we don't or we can't. But we're here. Older than we've ever been. Younger than how we feel. Always thinking that life has yet to happen.
I filled out a form yesterday. Wrote down my age; it was a surreal experience, as always. I never identified with the age I turned to. The last one has always lingered while my real age always whisper-yelled, "Wake up! This is life! This is all it will ever be!"
My age is all I'll ever be. But age is not just a number. It's childhood dreams, parental expectations, biological clocks and for some of us awaiting our deaths, a promise to oneself to not die before the time is due.
We focus on some things that age implies: career, marriage, kids...and neglect the other things that it entails. Good and bad. Confidence, impatience with decorum, quickness of the tongue, the slipping of our social masks. A kind of freedom when you have little to lose. When what's left of your hair is white and the bones are shying away from your skin and strangers not much younger than you have already called you, "ααα". These are the cliches you won't complain about.
But what about the friend group that shrinks down each year and get-together's start to feel like morbid count downs? When you tell the same stories again and again, not because you've run out of them but because you don't quite know how to explain the subtleties of them to someone that wasn't there, physically, as they took place. What then? When nobody gets the joke, what then? Anyone that knew anything, they've all died out on you. You've become the other.
When they don't bother to name your generation and toss you and your crooked uncle together in one age bracket, what then?
Is it only then that you are excused to be authentic to you?
Some have left us. By chance, by choice. We carry them or we don't or we can't. But we're here. Older than we've ever been. Younger than how we feel. Always thinking that life has yet to happen.
I filled out a form yesterday. Wrote down my age; it was a surreal experience, as always. I never identified with the age I turned to. The last one has always lingered while my real age always whisper-yelled, "Wake up! This is life! This is all it will ever be!"
My age is all I'll ever be. But age is not just a number. It's childhood dreams, parental expectations, biological clocks and for some of us awaiting our deaths, a promise to oneself to not die before the time is due.
We focus on some things that age implies: career, marriage, kids...and neglect the other things that it entails. Good and bad. Confidence, impatience with decorum, quickness of the tongue, the slipping of our social masks. A kind of freedom when you have little to lose. When what's left of your hair is white and the bones are shying away from your skin and strangers not much younger than you have already called you, "ααα". These are the cliches you won't complain about.
But what about the friend group that shrinks down each year and get-together's start to feel like morbid count downs? When you tell the same stories again and again, not because you've run out of them but because you don't quite know how to explain the subtleties of them to someone that wasn't there, physically, as they took place. What then? When nobody gets the joke, what then? Anyone that knew anything, they've all died out on you. You've become the other.
When they don't bother to name your generation and toss you and your crooked uncle together in one age bracket, what then?
Is it only then that you are excused to be authentic to you?
So you can see AI summaries of telegram posts? As if I need another reason to hate AI! Are we this cooked?
β€1π―1
"Mr. Merrill was most appealing because he reassured us that doubt was the essence of faith, and not faithβs opposite....
...He was articulate, but he never made speech seem effortless; on the contrary, he
exhibited what hard work it wasβto make his faith, in tandem with his doubt, clear; to speak well, in spite of his stutter."
-John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
...He was articulate, but he never made speech seem effortless; on the contrary, he
exhibited what hard work it wasβto make his faith, in tandem with his doubt, clear; to speak well, in spite of his stutter."
-John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
β€1