The quarter-life crossroads is coming and it almost seems too framed. Do you ever think that way? Like sometimes even when science and a strong understanding of confirmation bias overlap, there could still be something as inexplicably fitting as a fork in the road that finds you after 25 orbits? As if the day of your 25th birthday has a gravity of its own.
Now more than probably ever, I pour over every bridge I've crossed and wonder what all the discontinued projects mean. They share likeness only in the sense that they followed a direction and crossed over something else. But that can't be it, can it? For all of the nights I bought an extra burger, taxi ride or beer like an installment toward a principal, the common ground must be bigger than learning something new. I'd wager that for every time we sit our emotions down and run through the film, there have to be times when there is nothing to learn at all. Except that it was out of your control. Coaching can't fix wind blowing a kick wide right. I haven't decided if I'm satisfied with that, but I think maybe that's what the next quarter of life is all about.
In the meantime, the single burner, unattached faucet and cement floors of my apartment could use some love. Lots of it, at that. Because, after all, a sweet voicemail or a postcard from unrequited love won't charge my phone, put ink in my pens or keep the coffee hot. There is work to do.
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