"Yeah, those are all great ideas."
I don't like unsolicited career advice. I also don't really like going to wakes and getting career advice from people who actually say things like "we should take this chance to really embrace life and live it to its fullest."
Because I'm somebody who's living my life exactly the way I want to, for now, and I do think it's a damn shame when 27-year-olds die in amateur motorcycle races. I don't want to take anything away from it other than it's a damn shame. I certainly don't want to take away that the best way I can live my life is by live-twittering every boring joke I come up with and hope to gain a following. It's bad enough I write here anonymously every few days/weeks.
I used to think I was a lot like my dad, who could always talk to anybody about anything. He's a great doctor that way: as a psychologist, he can get people to open up about anything. I was always a pretty intuitive kid, and frequently connected to people. But lately--and especially that night--it's been hard, and I haven't really wanted to, and I pay a lot more attention to quiet, unsaid things.
My mom and I sat next to the pool in the beautiful backyard of the host's house. There were floating candles on the water, and fairy lights in the dense thicket of trees that surrounded the house. To one side, a knot of cousins and friends sat around to talk about the dead. And mom and I sat on a dried rock fountain next to the pool, agreeing it was so sad, and then we were silent. We worked on our own thoughts. I think mom was thinking of losing either her 29 or 24 year old daughters. I began to think about how important it was that I finally leave my parents' house but how grateful I am to be around to help them out. I know both of us were happy to not be talking--about people we didn't know, about things we couldn't ever hope to figure out. The candles winked around the pool, and we drank beer as we watched them float pass.
I don't like unsolicited career advice. I also don't really like going to wakes and getting career advice from people who actually say things like "we should take this chance to really embrace life and live it to its fullest."
Because I'm somebody who's living my life exactly the way I want to, for now, and I do think it's a damn shame when 27-year-olds die in amateur motorcycle races. I don't want to take anything away from it other than it's a damn shame. I certainly don't want to take away that the best way I can live my life is by live-twittering every boring joke I come up with and hope to gain a following. It's bad enough I write here anonymously every few days/weeks.
I used to think I was a lot like my dad, who could always talk to anybody about anything. He's a great doctor that way: as a psychologist, he can get people to open up about anything. I was always a pretty intuitive kid, and frequently connected to people. But lately--and especially that night--it's been hard, and I haven't really wanted to, and I pay a lot more attention to quiet, unsaid things.
My mom and I sat next to the pool in the beautiful backyard of the host's house. There were floating candles on the water, and fairy lights in the dense thicket of trees that surrounded the house. To one side, a knot of cousins and friends sat around to talk about the dead. And mom and I sat on a dried rock fountain next to the pool, agreeing it was so sad, and then we were silent. We worked on our own thoughts. I think mom was thinking of losing either her 29 or 24 year old daughters. I began to think about how important it was that I finally leave my parents' house but how grateful I am to be around to help them out. I know both of us were happy to not be talking--about people we didn't know, about things we couldn't ever hope to figure out. The candles winked around the pool, and we drank beer as we watched them float pass.
