I recently found out, on the
very same day, that one of my friends was engaged to be married and was expecting his first child, and that another had been diagnosed with late-stage
cancer. I felt terrible. Such a tragic
waste of life. So much needless suffering. As to the other friend, I’m hopeful
that against long odds, chemo can reverse the cancer’s progress.
--Excerpt
from “Against Adulthood,” Washington City Paper, January 6, 2012
It’s less fun than you imagine
childhood was, but more fun than childhood actually was. Magic dries up, but you’ll observe that real
things have a certain sheen to them, like the scrambled light coming off the
surface of one particular pearl, or like the whoosh sound of air
ripping across a pond, right as a skein of geese coasts down to
land. And seeing that shimmer is
astounding.
There is sadness, which if
handled artfully, can leave a satisfying aftertaste of
wisdom.
Most importantly, there is
choosing, a land of opportunity, each day giving the chance to measure the
angle, to weigh the force of the stroke, and then to strike the nail and fasten
a moment of yourself to the board of history.
One thing more: If you choose
this life, the life of adulthood, one day—many days—you’ll be caught, suddenly,
by the spectacle of yourself playacting, doing adult things, making such
important decisions under the influence of the role. Then (and only then) can you be born again, a
wiser child.
