It’s all about baby steps and trying to figure out how to slowly, elegantly become an adult. – Selena Gomez
I have a certain thick, cubic quantum of respect for people who go about the business of living seriously and straightforward. It awes me to behold these special specimen of the human species who do not care to resort to irony or fiction because, whatever it is they are doing, it is serious enough to hold their attention, to hold its own weight. No bullshit that needs rhetorical or emotional camouflage.
These people are magnificiently rare – I think.
It doesn’t meant they have to operate in this mode (serious, fiction-free) all the time. But that is their main – what is it – momentum, vector of impulse….brunt. I want to say brunt. Their lives are interesting to them, what other people tell them matters deeply, going to the cafe on the corner, drinking a Cappuccino or even a tea and watching the crowd, all of this no netflix series can compete with in a million million years. Never mind cellphones. People with two sets of names, one before and one behind the camera? These serious, adult-grade peeps don’t care. There is no conceivable need for the satirical remark, the imaginary lives, the complex cosm of make-believe, what happens daily to these stern hominids and their significant others is all that matters. Just come home and think about what happened today and what they should do the next day. Like: The taste of life is in the living.
I wish to be more like that, less subservient to fiction, to “I didn’t really mean it”.
Someone on the other end of the world, on the other end of time, scribbles a few pages and here I am, reality-jaded, reading it. Like it’s the most important bloody thing – friends and relatives somewhere on the backburner.
Come on! Get out! Converse!
Because how many times can you be sitting in a living room peering into another living room without getting stuck in the middle? Whatever that means.