Last words

crankyMY DAUGHTER STARTS 8TH GRADE TODAY. There’s a nip in the air. Leaves are getting crispy. Introspection isn’t surprising when seasons change, but fall comes at me with extra layers.

It was about this time…
> 20 years ago I moved to Minneapolis
> 16 years ago we got married
> 15 years ago I went freelance
> 13 years ago JoJo was born
> 7 years ago we bought this house

Are we doing it right? Trying hard enough? Will we be happy with our choices later? The questions linger, but lack urgency. Our (self-reported) report card reeks of self-satisfaction. Life is great on paper and backed up by reality. We’d rather have our pain than anyone else’s. Best not to jinx it. #SmugLife.

I started this blog in 2008 as an extension of my pre-internet scrapbooks. In 2012, social media assumed that role and this morphed into a journal for processing raw inspiration and messy experiences. Two decades into adulthood, our grand scheme feels much less raw and messy. No longer manic ad-libbers, we stick with what works and keep on keeping on. My boldest moves bring me back to familiar conclusions. Once my greatest fear, becoming a cliché now feels beyond my protests.

When I was younger, I thought there was one way to be: skeptic, non-joiner, contrarian, awake in a world of sleeping sheep. This is a hard perspective to hold on to as you age. Truth is, there’s no monopoly on truth. No one is pure. We all have our own contradictions and delusions (Late Capitalism demands them). Each of us is trying to survive our own twisted trip. So live and let live.

Whatever I used to be on about now musters a shrug. I wrote my last post many months ago, a panicky screed about my ambivalent existence. No one needs that kind of performative outrage, least of all me.

Let’s turn the page. See you around in real life as I STFU and try to enjoy it.

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