He started writing poetry again, but it didn’t come as easily. It was hard now to get past the self-consciousness – the silliness, really – of being such a well-established adult applying himself, seriously, to such a youthful joy.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? You left home. But you never did become an adult. Not really. You just fucked up in different and more complicated ways.
Men do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing.
We are accustomed to repeating the cliché, and to believing, that ‘our most precious resource is our children.’ But we have plenty of children to go around, God knows, and as with Doritos, we can always make more. The true scarcity we face is practicing adults, of people who know how marginal, how fragile, how finite their lives and their stories and their ambitions really are but who find value in this knowledge, even a sense of strange comfort, because they know their condition is universal, is shared.
I once tried to give him a friendly little “drugs chat”. He politely corrected me on every single fact, then said he’d noticed I drank above the recommended guidelines of Red Bull and did I think I might have an addiction? That was the last time I tried to act like the older sister.
When one came to know them it was surprising how childish grown people could be.
The odor of frying bacon, sausage links, and ham tiptoed on little pig feet all the way to the north end of the second floor. Inevitably, the odor made her simultaneously ravenous and nauseated. She hated the sensation. It reminded her of pregnancy. Every Sunday morning, Leigh-Cheri awoke to a pan of fried fear.
the benefit of experience and know the trick will work as long as the technique is correct.
When we “grow up
I’ve spent awhile trying to figure out where I’m going and the only thing I’ve come to realize is it doesn’t matter where, it’s how I get there.
You can’t just be. You have to become.