I’m gonna say something weird that I don’t think you’re hearing much nowadays,
Here it goes
have a good life.
Yep, that’s pretty much it. Sure I wish I was a world famous author by age 32, but I’m not done yet and in lots of ways I’m growing wiser. (Less energetic, maybe also less sharp, but there’s more confidence in what I think is wise too.)
And I’m lucky enough to come from some tough things and still doing well.
My mind’s been wandering to generational issues and things that extend from just one lifespan a bit more and more lately. And whoopedy do. So let’s talking about parenting for a second,
One challenge of parenting is that parents have no fucking clue how to make a perfect child. Don’t even know where to even begin about dissecting about how that’s undeniably and obviously true, so let’s take it as a given that everyone’s just trying to figure it out:
well, parenting goes into one of those “knowing what you don’t know” situations.
It’s a known that parents don’t know what their kids need to know to be exceptional in whatever their kid figures out to be exceptional in. As in, I do think I’m doing better in some things — or at least I’m growing more confident at things that provide value — but I don’t think those things will have the same value for the next generation.
As to what the value of those skills will be, well I don’t know, so you sure as hell don’t either, and neither does the next person.
So do exceptional parents spend more effort getting their kid to write in cursive, or type?
The correct answer is shrug.
So….I think people who are doing exceptionally well are extra exceptional, because today’s world is a circus, but also demands some weird ass things if luck is also going to work.
So I think exceptional people compliment their entire goddamn bloodline in some way, as well as they way they were raised, and the people they can keep around. I hope that I’m doing that, cause I’m sure as hell eager and willing to.
But then there are those of us who after being given so much can’t do better than a lazy narrative of lies or pushing refrigerators.
It’s the being given so much part that makes it pathetic. I want to use the word squander.
Bottom line: there’s a bit of pride and pleasure in trying to choose something else entirely, and being glad for it.
Anyway this is a penis with very questionable balls.