My greatest fears as a child typically stemmed from internalizing misinformation. Rather than talking about my fears, I usually preferred not to burden anyone with them and just set straight to work solving issues that I didn’t understand, all by myself.
Modern life rarely affords enough time to choose both experience and appearance. I’m trying to remember to choose experiences first, when I can. Even if that sometimes means just staying out of life’s way.
“Even if no one is listening, the children will still run down the halls of the morning dragging themselves into coat and scarf, outgrowing everything learned except that life is a gift that looks different to every person with eyes like windows into the cosmos…”
Time is space, and when it’s all filled up, you can’t move, and there’s nothing to ponder, nothing to cherish, nothing to celebrate, nothing to grieve. You get deaths and lotteries announced in the same nihilistic sentence. When it’s all filled up, you can’t be heard, no matter what you say or how you sing.
If youth is wasted on the young, what’s to stop the rest of life from being wasted on the living?
Do the whimsical desires and dreams of children usurp and sometimes destroy the mature desires and dreams of parents, generation after generation? Or are those “mature dreams and desires” not always as mature as they seem?