Tomorrow I will go to the grocery store. Some guy will cut me off and take my parking spot. I’ll flick him off, honk and drive into another parking spot. I know I can do this. I know the neighborhood well. I can give him the bird with little to no repercussions. On my way into the store he will confront me and whine that he didn’t see me and be mad that I flicked him off. Now we have to shop together! I’ll tell him he deserves what he got.
I haven’t changed since I was eighteen. I no longer mature. I just pick up more information. Fact-finding pushes me towards truths and away from fakes. Like a vacant yard, I have no ability to control my growth. A data stream comes in, I process it, then it gets transformed. Eighteen, eighty. Numbers no longer have relevance. I will not have a profound political or religious awakening. It’s like being stoned and watching the world pass by. Places and things vary, tragedy and beauty impress, but I’m still just a glassy-eyed observer.