So it's funny how winter, with its connotation of darkness and cold, begins just at that moment when the days start getting longer. So I'm here and what to make of it. I don't want the next thirty years to look like the last, or the first, although I wax nostalgic for the ones that I was probably most confused and anxious through, let's say 18 to 28. While I am sure I was completely unsure of myself, they were also years ripe with possibility which is hard to conceive as being available now.
I did come home from synagogue with a certain spirit of lightness, like more is possible, like maybe I could run another marathon, and I could, but I've done that. There are actually a whole lot of marathons I could run, and it's time to pick one, maybe two, at the very outside three,…but I want to run them all. And that I know I can't.
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