Ask me again in thirty years.
For some reason, I’m feeling very young this week, and it’s not in that good way. I’m not feeling young in that vibrant, lively, healthy, carefree, frolicking naked through a field of sunflowers kinda way. I’m feeling more young as in “When does my life begin?” [1] I’m feeling young as in I feel like I’m surrounded by people who have collected enough of themselves to create the self-portrait of themselves they keep hanging over their mental mantle. Robust and colorful, oil on canvas. You wander into your den one night asking yourself, “Who am I?”
And then you look up. And you know.
I want one of those.
[1] “Because . . . okay. I’m cookie dough. I’m not done baking. I’m not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I’m going to turn out to be. I make it through this and the next thing and the next thing and maybe one day I turn around and realize I’m ready. I’m cookies. And then, you know, if I want someone to eat m— (covers) or enjoy warm, delicious cookie-me, then that’s fine. That’ll be then. When I’m done.”
—Joss Whedon, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, “Chosen”
Current music: Santana feat. Eagle-Eye Cherry, “Wishing It Was”
Creative Control 