I feel, at 30, like I thought I would at 20 years… that is, almost ready to be serious.
Here is unserious:
Could the mild, unspeakable guilt we feel as hosts when entertaining out-of-town visitors during a spell of bad weather be in any way related to the horrible, misplaced guilt a child of divorcing parents feels?
Here is serious:
What if we told each other the truth from the start? What if (instead of a long life of relative comfort & ease) we promised our children mystery? They will get it! They will grow up several steps closer to the source… & still fall in love & still get in trouble & still grow just as old as us.
(… & as I’m typing the 2nd earthquake of the day tossed San Francisco around sharply)
