I like Andrew W.K.'s music. I rarely care for his "advice." Nonetheless, a statement this pithy deserves a retweet:
OK. I can take that. I try to be a good person; therefore I'm on my way to being a good person. That'll make me feel better… for a moment.
It doesn't take three rereads, however, before it's a self-help deepity. And on a fourth reread, I've begun an existential spiral.
In a week I turn 35; I've been teaching for almost ten years; in a month I celebrate my ninth wedding anniversary.
Numbers don't really mean anything, however. They're artificial representations we use to make sense of the world. So I shouldn't dwell on numbers.
But over this decade of work and marriage, have I been good? IDK. I coast. I don't think I've changed. And I'm not sure if that's good.
At 35, I shouldn't even recognize myself at 25. But I think I see my 25 year old self pretty clearly.
That might've been OK for 25, but I'm not certain about 35.
I could resign myself: *Bring on the mid-life crisis. I'm primed and ready. I got enough angst to fill a Mustang, even one of those ugly 90s ones.*
But even at 25, I didn't resign myself.
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