well well well. if it isn’t my old friend, the dawning realization that i fucked up real bad
Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.
Both men and women should feel free to be sensitive. Both men and women should feel free to be strong. It is time we see gender as a spectrum, and not as two sets of opposing ideals.
Enter into the joy, enter into the joy.
Those who know the most mourn the deepest.
Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes–characters even–caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you.
If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph.
My food. And my dogs.
What’s the worst thing I’ve stolen? Probably little pieces of other people’s lives. Where I’ve either wasted their time or hurt them in some way. That’s the worst thing you can steal, the time of other people. You just can’t get that back.
You will have bad times, but they will always wake you up to the stuff you weren’t paying attention to.