The Lifers

I think one of the hardest things to do is to accept people for who they are, and forgive them when they fall terribly short of who you think they should/could be.


This is especially hard with friends.


With family members, there's a certain amount of understanding there that these people were put on earth to drive you crazy in some way. And that you're supposed to love them, regardless. No doubt they feel likewise.


With significant others, you have to go into relationships believing that there are going to be things you don't like, moments you'd rather do without, and personality quirks that most of the time you find irresistibly charming. (Most of the time.) Again - it's a give and take equation, and you go into this kind of commitment understanding that there will be discrepancies and shortfalls and gaps between perfection and reality. All par for the course.


With friends, however, there seems to be a different set of expectations. At least on the surface.


We don't choose our family, for the most part. We may choose romantic entanglements, but the long-lasting ones, the ones worth their salt, are bound to come with moments where you have to remind yourself that you chose this person, that you love him/her, and that at this very moment in time you still accept him/her for who s/he is. It's that conscious "for better or worse" choice that you make when you make a commitment.


The friendship thing, however, is much more intangible. And what do you do when a friend steps so far outside of who you thought they were, or who you think they should be? What if they make destructive, hurtful choices that pain those around them? What if they seem to become less and less "themselves"? What's holding you to them? Not familial blood or a spoken commitment, that's for sure.


True, there are some friendships that are flashes in the pans. Matters of convenience, the children of circumstance. A season, as the adage goes. Or even just a reason, because the adage never equated "reason" to a "lifetime." The reason could be third period math, or a dorm room, or a shared yoga class. The season could be a marking period, a semester, or an actual season, like summer. 


Friendships are slippery things, bound to break free from you. The long-lasting ones, those lifetime gems, can weather a beating. The "reason" or the "seasonal" ones cannot. The tricky thing is learning to distinguish the different types of friendship, and giving them the allotted amount of energy with which they can healthfully grow. A "reason" or "season" friendship can grow into a lifetime. Or a friendship that you thought was "lifetime" material could wither painfully into an abrupt seasonal affair. 


As we get older, the friendships can tend to sort themselves. When big events begin to unfold in everyone's lives - jobs, marriages, moving, babies - the people who are going to be there are the "lifetimers." The reasons and seasons will fall by the wayside. And then when the stakes get higher - illness, death, divorce - those lifetimers are really going to prove their mettle. Who do you want by your side for the good times, and the bad?


Our families (we can only hope) will be there. Our significant others (we can only hope) will be there. But friends? They made no promises when they agreed to be your friend. They didn't sign anything. They are there of their own accord. 


So how obligated are you to be there? How much are you willing to put up with, how far outside of your box can you step to still love someone as they are even when you are certain they have become someone else entirely? You certainly don't have to. Breaking up with a friend requires no paperwork. Unless you count a good old-fashioned Facebook defriending, which shouldn't be overlooked these days. 


In my old age, my friendships are something I have come to realize need cultivation, time, and energy to survive. Especially because so many of my friends are far-flung across the US (and the world). And the lifetimers are not to be taken for granted.


It's a difficult decision to write someone off entirely. And not one that can be made overnight, or because of one action. More often, it takes a series of actions. A series of let-downs and disappointments. 


But how do you ever know if you are doing the right thing? If you turn your back on this person, are you essentially shutting down? Are you failing that person in a far more deliberate and worse way then however they may have failed you? The lines are blurry, the area a solid gray. Does longevity win? What if the "reason" was compelling enough? 


Time will tell. You have your gang of Lifers, you have your groups of Seasonal Wayfarers, and you have your solid Reasons. When one slips the ranks, you have to take a step back and decide how far you're willing to let them go until they're out of the running altogether. And, depending on what kind of a friend they were in the first place, this could be a foot or the circumference of the earth and beyond.

The Dinner Party

First dinner party at New House last night. Bittersweet, though, as it's the last dinner party with Lee and Hot Curry before they move to FREAKING UTAH. Homemade black bean dip, Whole Foods-made guacamole and Mediterranean lentil soup, crab quesadillas, a salad from the Polish roommate, wine and beer courtesy Josh, and a freaking incredible cranberry pear crumble from Hot Curry. Great conversations about the biological necessity of nipples on men, Joe Paterno, Justin Bieber, European dialects, Indian phrases, small pox, and a bevy of other titillating subjects. I do so love me a good dinner party. Especially on a Wednesday night.

To say that I will miss Lee and Hot Curry is an understatement. Lee was one of the first friends I made here in Baltimore, he landed me my first freelancing gig, and he helped me navigate that terrible summer when we lost our jobs due to fire and my boyfriend of four years and I called it quits. (Subsequently, Lee's was the shoulder I cried on during the years of terrible break ups, where he had the grace and patience to say soothing things and not, "Good. That guy was a jerk anyway," which would have been well within the realm of fact.)

I brought Lee to a party a couple of years ago with the express purpose of aiding another friend in introducing him to her roommate, Hot Curry, who is now his fiance. And she is one of my favorite gossip girls, and the one who will drink Lee under the table with me.

Thankfully, we have a few weeks left before they depart. During which time we have to hit up the Explorer Bar and Birds of a Feather. More on those later. And then there's the wedding to look forward to, in April.

Still, I can't help but look around me and see how much has changed in the last four years. Friends moving away, getting engaged, getting married, having babies, getting promotions, new careers, new degrees.

It's pretty sweet to be able to watch someone about to head off on the expedition of a lifetime - primarily Salt Lake City, but also, oh you know, MARRIAGE - and say, "I remember when we drank a bottle of Malibu and you ran down the streets of Baltimore barefoot in your pajamas." Because that happened. And it was glorious.

The Last Dinner Party Menu:

Easiest Bean Dip

(This makes a hell of a lot of bean dip. For fewer than 8 people, I'd halve the recipe. Unless you want delicious leftovers - which I have, and am now overjoyed. So maybe be greedy and don't halve it.)

2 cans black beans

4 TBS chopped cilantro

2 cups hot salsa

cumin to taste

salt and pepper to taste

4 TBS lime juice

Throw it all in a blender or food processor. Transfer to bowl. Or don't and just eat it out of the blender. It's delicious either way.

Goodbye Maryland Crab Quesadillas (via Eating Well)

This feeds 4 people. I doubled it for 6, and all that was left at the end were two lonely tiny triangles that Lee and Hot Curry took home.

• 1 cup shredded reduced-fat Cheddar cheese (I used regular full-fat, because it melts better)
• 2 ounces reduced-fat cream cheese, softened
• 4 scallions, chopped
• 1/2 medium red bell pepper, finely chopped
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 2 tablespoons chopped pickled jalapenos, (optional)
• 1 teaspoon freshly grated orange zest
• 1 tablespoon orange juice
• 8 ounces pasteurized crabmeat, drained if necessary
• 4 8-inch whole-wheat tortillas
• 2 teaspoons canola oil, divided (I used olive oil)

Combine Cheddar, cream cheese, scallions, bell pepper, cilantro, jalapenos (if using), orange zest and juice in a medium bowl. Gently stir in crab. Lay tortillas out on a work surface. Spread one-fourth of the filling on half of each tortilla. Fold tortillas in half, pressing gently to flatten.

Heat 1 teaspoon oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Place 2 quesadillas in the pan and cook, turning once, until golden on both sides, 3 to 4 minutes total. Transfer to a cutting board and tent with foil to keep warm. Repeat with the remaining 1 teaspoon oil and quesadillas. Cut each quesadilla into 4 wedges.

When Hot Curry sends me the recipe for her incredible cranberry pear crumble, I shall post.

Apologies for the lack of food pictures - I meant to photograph everything and the night got away with me. It could have been all the wine.

"Totes Inappropes..." Bachelorette Mayhem

Fifteen years ago, Snap and I were frenemies who dated each others' exboyfriends. After finally realizing in high school that we actually loved one another quite muchly, we stalked each other online through college via now-antiquated LiveJournal. We both attended grad schools in the south and bonded further over Academia and the fish-out-of-water acclimation we both endured moving from the mid-Atlantic. Post grad-school, we shared a lot of heart ache over terrible jobs, terrible boyfriends, terrible bills, and terrible car problems.

Last night, we donned pink furry mustaches and glittery sashes and bar hopped through downtown Annapolis for Snap's bachelorette party. In May, she'll marry the best dude for the job. And, somewhere around 2am in a dark kitchen over some quite-delicious greasy pizza from that place downtown where we both worked at various times in high school/college, we re-enacted the history of our friendship for the entertainment of other old friends and soon-to-be-family members. We recited old diary entries, dredged up first kisses, and acted out the moments that were linchpins in our shared histories.

Fifteen years, and you're still my most favorite bitch, Snap. And you damn well better believe I am bringing middle school diary material into my speech at your wedding.

Why Lee Is The Best Ever

This is an example of the kinds of emails I send to Lee:

Subj: Are we still friends?
I had a dream/panic attack last night that I lost my job, got really, really fat and that all my friends and family decided to break up with me at once on the terms of me being a silly, impractical, and terrible person. This is what I think about sometimes. No wonder I am crazy.

PS: are you going to the dinner thingy on Sat?

The best part? He responded in a most reassuring manner that being silly and impractical are things he considers to be excellent qualities in a person and therefore part of the reason we are friends. Lee is still one of my most favorite people, despite the fact that he apparently loves his girlfriend more than he loves me- something I have come to terms with because sometimes I love his girlfriend more than I love him too. And he is one of my most favorite people not even because he calmly engages in my attention-seeking behavior by responding as though I were making some logical, reasonable argument.

AND I have already purchased his Christmas present, and I am so excited by it because I believe I have topped what I got him last year (an xkcd tie to outwardly display his inner geekitude), and I even believe it might be more geeky. I figure, I am a rather emotionally high-maintenance friend, so I might as well buy affection with awesome Christmas presents.

Urban Family

Several years ago, when I was exiting a four-year relationship, I experienced that swift and utterly inevitable consequence of ending a long-term relationship littered with friends who have only known you to be one-half of a couple: the excommunication from certain group activities. Very quickly, my list of people I would consider friends whittled itself down. This is a natural life process- there are certain people who are in your life circumstantially. It doesn't belittle the weight of the friendship at the time, but it does make you consider what kinds of people are gonna be there for the long haul.

I think, because of this circumstance and also because I lost touch with so many people when I high-tailed it to Florida for three years after college graduation, that I had this ingrained fear that most adult friendships are transient. Dependent on circumstance and temporal. And I think, because of this, I perhaps haven't valued my friendships quite as much as I should have. This has been brought to my attention a lot recently. Several of my friends have gone to bat for me in circumstances that they surely didn't have to get involved in, much less offer the support and care that they did. I don't know why I got it in my head that you had already made all the lifelong friends you were going to make early on. This is categorically untrue.

Because, the fact is, my friends make up the bulk of my life here in Baltimore. Where I never wanted to be in the first place. They have become a family of sorts, a network of support and love. And, even more surprising to me, they don't always wait for me to reach out to them. Their presence is consistent, constant, and welcome. Persistent even, at times, as well it should be. When I am truly upset, I have a very nasty habit of hermiting myself away which leads to this cycle of feeling sorry for myself because I am alone. This is bass-akwards.

My mom told me that I never have to be alone if I don't want to be, and she's absolutely right. At any given moment, I am fortunate enough to have friends I can call who will show up, listen, laugh, answer the phone or a text, or otherwise be present. And I'd do the same for them.

I think this is part of what I feared so much about being single in my late twenties- I had this horrific and deep phobia that all of my friends would move, get married, or otherwise extricate themselves from my life and, little by little, my friendships would be pared down and I would find myself utterly alone. This has proved itself to be completely untrue. In fact, if anything, my circles of friends continue to grow (in strength and in breadth) the more I invest in my life here in Baltimore.

A lot of it goes back to the Butternut Squash Soup Incident of 2009. I was in a definitive low. Things were Not Going Well across the board. I was Not Happy. And the only thing I could think of to remedy a thousand broken situations was to move. I wanted out of Baltimore, out of the messes I had found myself in, away from a history of indecisiveness and apprehension. I started looking for jobs and apartments in New York, Vancouver, San Francisco, London, Berlin. I looked into work visas to catapult me abroad. I wanted Out.

And then Jaunt made a batch of butternut squash soup and gave me a stack of Tupperware bowls of it. Some for eating immediately, some for freezing. Jaunt made this delicious soup, purposefully made too much too much of it, and gave me the leftovers so that I would have meals for the future. I don't even think it took any mental strategizing on her part; it was simply a facet of this life she had in Baltimore. Buy ingredients, make soup, give leftovers to friends for future lunches and dinners. This is life; and this is what you do when you are a part of it.

And I realized that if I moved, I would be starting over. Again. With no neighbors to make me soup. I would be, for all intents and purposes, truly alone. Possibly in a foreign country. Sure, I'd make new friends and have new adventures. But how long would it be before someone gave me soup? It took me two years in Baltimore before someone did that. Did I want to leave all of the networks of community I had started here in Baltimore to wipe the slate clean and work, again, on building a life from the ground up somewhere else?

The logic seemed- and was- skewed. I was trying to escape Baltimore because I was seeking change and looking for things that I thought I couldn't find. Mainly- community, belonging, purpose. Right. Under. My. Nose.

A year later, I've...shall we say....re-evaluated several things in my life. And realized that I have no desire to move again, at least not in the near future. I've built a life here, a community, a network of caring, hilarious individuals who not only make me soup, but cupcakes, pieces of art, mixed CDs, artfully mixed martinis, and a plethora of other richness that makes everyday feel special in some small way. I have friends who teach me yoga, who help me run races, get me job interviews, sit next to me in chuch, and tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself when I occasionally start down the path of pity-party. I have friends who tell me when I'm out of line, when I'm beating dead horses, when I'm so far off-track I'm not even in the park anymore.

I finally have the life I always wanted, only it doesn't look a damn thing like this THING I had in mind so many years before. I'm never alone, not really, unless I choose to be. There's soup in my freezer, companionship a short walk in pretty much any direction. I have neighbors from whom I can borrow eggs. Or, on one occasion, lime juice. I have the kind of friends who tell me, point blank, "This is what your friendship means to me," and it's my job, then, to reciprocate and contribute and give and give as much love as I am getting in return. Because that's the clincher with adult friendships- when circumstance no longer binds you together, it takes effort and energy to keep the wheels turning. If it's too much effort, too much energy, the thing will fizzle itself out. But, for the right people (the ones who are life-long,) it's never too much and it doesn't even feel like effort half the time. It's just what you do. You show up. You answer the phone. You make soup and share it.

(This also isn't to say that I don't have life-long friends that "go wayyyyyyyyyyy back." Snap; frenemies from ages 13-18, long-distance admirers of one another's work from ages 18-23, and then bffffffffs from then on; is getting married this spring and I am a bridesmaid in her wedding. Our friendship began, in a very twisted sort of way, when she kissed a boy who was the love of my life for three months in 1995. I hated her. I coveted her white blonde hair. I kind of thought she was totally cool. We became friends when we had to play tennis together in high school. She is totally as cool as I suspected. Mr. Spaz and I go 'way back as well: my high school exboyfriend who became one of my closest friends and then married my college best friend. Double insurance that both of them will forever be a part of my life. There are others, too. Several friends from college who, despite our geographical distances, stay close in my life. A couple of true lifelong friends from grad school. Again with geographical distances. But, again, it doesn't matter.)

And, of course, I'm thankful for all of the debauchery that goes on. My friends-all of them- are, truly, partners-in-crime. Our history reflects a lot of late-nights and distilleries consumed. Especially, for some reason, the last six months or so. Good God, this was an epic summer. Which reminds me: it's Halloween weekend and Catalano's fiance is out of town. More history to be made. (And, subsequently, photos to be hidden away, never to be posted on Facebook or blogs or any sort of public sphere.)

Sleepovers

I don't have any sisters, which is a point of contention that will most likely arise in therapy at some point in my life. My charmed life ended when I was 3 1/2 and my parents brought home my baby brother, thus rudely ripping the center of attention away from me. Growing up, I was always 100% sure that if they had brought home a girl, my life would feel more complete. Girls didn't attempt to hijack Barbie sessions with war games. Girls didn't hit back. Girls never tagged along after my friends and I, ruthlessly challenging my already-shaky status of "cool."

So I thought.

I never had any sisters, but I did have girlfriends. And we had sleepovers. Pizza, junk food, movies, dirty jokes, and whispers deep into the night. I was convinced that if I'd had a sister, every night would be like a sleepover. Doing each others' hair, painting each others' nails, discussing whether or not Whatshisface would ask me to dance at Whatshisotherface's bar mitzvah or if the band teacher was really dating the English teacher and, if so, were they like Ross and Rachel from that hit new show Friends? These were important matters.

Sleepovers were reserved for birthdays, summer nights, and the occasional blizzard. Every now and again I would find a friend with whom we could stretch one sleepover into two or three (especially in the summer time when parental authority was a bit more lax, and the opportunity to send a child over to someone else's house to play was welcome.) But, for the most part, they were rare and anticipated. Like Christmas.

I've recently had a lot of out-of-town houseguests, all of them girlfriends from various walks of life, and so I've been enjoying the influx of sleepovers. Even in our late-twenties-early-thirties, the lights going out signals moments of confession and whispered discussion that pushes far later into the night than anyone anticipated. Only now, our sleepovers are catered with dark chocolate and wine instead of Oreos and Diet Coke, and the subjects we discuss span heavier issues about big decisions, careers, and frightening aspects of adult life that are often too fearful to face alone.

These sleepovers still bolster me, and I have come to realize how these longtime friends of mine are, in a way, sisters of mine. Biologically I was blessed with a younger brother who makes me laugh and knows precisely how to get under my skin. But in my walks of life, I have been blessed with the presence of females who have been friends for many years and with whom I've shared countless sleepovers.

Anyone with siblings will tell you that the grass is always greener in terms of having a brother or sister, and it's entirely possible that a sister would have driven me batshit crazy. I certainly no longer romanticize the idea of having a biological sister, and I've long since come to terms with the fact that my childhood was mostly complete despite my lack of a kind, older sister who would braid my hair, loan me clothes, and pull me into the popular circles at school.

That and the fact that I never got a pony.

Savoring the Moment: Quandries of Shark Week

Talk about savoring moments.

I had a great night last night- a "family dinner" of sorts with my favorite guy friends. I can't remember the last time all of us hung out together, and it was especially nice to actually sit at a table like civilized people.

Kid Brother made the most fantastic ribs. All he would tell me is that they took six hours to cook and involved cans of chipolte peppers. (My spell checker just wanted to turn "chipolte" into "Chippewa" which made me think of "Addams Family II: Family Values" for some reason. You know....the summer camp? I digress.) Lee made delicious rice and beans, and I contributed a green salad. Because I am, apparently, the mom of the group. Josh, who had to come a bit late, brought the witty conversation.

Anyway...it was a lovely evening with much to savor. I spend so much of my time these days with girls, it was nice to be around a bunch of guys for a change.

After dinner, as we all sat around with full bellies nursing beer and wine, there was a moment of clamoring excitement when Kid Brother reminded us that it is, in fact, Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. It was then that I was introduced to "Air Shark," and not only was I introduced to the concept of "Air Shark," I was getting the full experience because it was actually "Air Shark II: EVEN HIGHER."

I kid you not.

First of all, because my guy friends have excellent taste, I'd like to point out that we were listening to Band of Horses at the time. The TV was on mute. And there is something paradoxically hilarious about watching "Air Shark II: EVEN HIGHER" with Band of Horses as the soundtrack. Even funnier: after BOH, Lee's roommate put on Ray Lamontagne. Also paradoxically funny.

But I digress again: let us discuss the concept of "Air Shark." A miniature seal is fashioned out of foam and painted to look incredibly life-like, then dragged behind a power boat on a piece of fishing line that looks as though it wouldn't hold up through a strenuous flossing of teeth. Cameras are poised at the stern of the boat dragging it, and also positioned under the boat for the extra-special UNDERWATER VIEW. The crew then chums the water with bloody fish bits, and waits.

Sooner or later, a shark roughly the size of a church bus comes leaping out of the water, jaws out, coming after this poor helpless foam seal. It is not pretty.

But it is, as the chorus of exclamations in Lee's living room ascertained, AWESOME.

Being the only female, I naturally had to question the validity of such an experiment beyond it's "AWESOME"- factor. What's the point of this endeavour? To show how sharks can do little else besides churn ominously through sea water and tear crap apart? How is this encouraging eco-knowledge? By intimidating us into respecting a shark's hunting prowess enough to want to save them? Sure, they're impressive. Sure, they're huge and a vital part of the eco-system. But to videotape them leaping twenty feet out of the water and ripping apart a foam seal (that is just WAY TOO LIFELIKE for my sensibilities) doesn't seem a particularly productive form of study.

I'M JUST SAYING.

Still...gotta respect the hunting master. It's a pretty epic feat of nature to watch these things jump out of the water like that. It just seems a little....the phrase "baiting sport" comes to mind. They get the sharks all riled up, film it, and then what? Toss the dolly grip overboard to placate the angry mob? Throw some baby seals and watch the action?

Anyway.

It was awesome to see my friends, awesome to sit and eat delicious ribs and talk about current events and, yes, gossip (because even guys like to partake) and we ended the entire evening with some karaoke which is always the icing on the proverbial Wednesday night cake. My urban family is everything to me, and spending quality time with them is very far up there on the list of things that make me oh-so-very-happy.

And, I'll totally admit it: "Air Shark II: EVEN HIGHER" was pretty badass. I totally recommend it with a side of Ray Lamontagne, too. And some hilarious commentary from brilliant friends.

Home for FoundCat

Happy FoundCat!

FoundCat has a home, thanks to....a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. According to Whack, this woman recently had to put her beloved older cat to sleep and viewed our finding of a cat some sort of cyclic karma.

It's an incredible relief to us to know that FoundCat has a home. While she's charmed us with her easy-going and affectionate personality, it just wasn't viable for us to keep her.

It amazes me, too, the power of networking. Our message probably reached close to 500 people, if I add up the numbers of friends, family, and co-workers in the Baltimore area who forwarded on our plea. We wound up with so many kind offers of temporary homes, shelter ideas, or forwards to other resources and "try this person- he/she might be looking for a pet!" Within just four days, we found a home for a cat abandoned in a bag in a grocery store parking lot.

This means that in 2010 I have returned someone's lost wallet, volunteered in New Orleans, helped TWO cats find homes (one, actually, was returned to its distressed owners after it got out, making for a lovely reunion), and made some other pretty worthy deposits in the bank of karma. Selfishly, of course, because human beings are by nature selfish creatures; I don't find too much fault with people who do-good because it makes them feel good.

Karma isn't an eye-to-eye transaction, I know. Carrying out these actions doesn't mean an exact exchange will be refunded to me at some point in time. But I do know, all too well, that attempting to make the world a little easier/nicer/prettier/gentler/friendlier place to live goes a long way towards coming back around to you when you need it most. There are two ways to approach this life: with the attitude that it's a series of crimes and punishments, or that help is always just around the corner in some way.

Anyway, our hearts are glad for FoundCat though we will be sad to see her go. Her little mew and friendly head-butts have become welcome parts of our day, although my own cats are a little jealous, I think.

Thank you to everyone who helped FoundCat, whether by offering love and support, admonishing the malicious actions that led to her being abandoned in the first place, and forwarding, forwarding, forwarding our desperate emails!

In other news- I just want to say that my friends rock. All of them. All in their own way. I've been feeling a lot of love lately, from a lot of different venues, and I feel a lot of gratitude for this. Recently they've all been going ridiculously above and beyond in the friend department, and I'm feeling as though all this positive karma is manifesting in this way. Thanks, friends. And, subsequently, thanks world.

Smooches.

Not Content

for Spano

I'm not content to believe that this is all there is.

I'm not comfortable in the reality that my brain has stretched as far as it can go, that I have discovered all of the things I need to discover, or that the perspective of the world I currently hold is one I could sit peacefully with for a lifetime.

I'm not copacetic enough to believe that I've found anything even remotely like faith, except to say I have faith that someday I will have faith, in something. An idea, maybe, or a way of living. Most likely not a doctrine or any antiquated idea. But then, who knows?

I don't believe that I have yet found my calling, or my place in this world. I also don't believe that it will fit neatly into any predetermined square. I believe I will have to carve out a life for myself amongst the far stretches of what other people deem to be "normal" or "anticipated," and that I'll carry pieces of this life from far corners of reality to assemble my own reality.

I don't believe I have made peace with any of these things, so anxious am I to have all of the answers right now.

I don't believe that the best of me has yet surfaced. I don't know if it's hidden somewhere within, waiting to bubble up sometime around my thirty first birthday to surprise me just when I'd come to grips with the idea that all hope was lost. Or maybe it's out there, somewhere, and it will become my mission to find it, to coax it inside.

"What if all of our dreams had come true by 28? What, then, would we do to fill the next fifty years?"

I'm not content to believe this is all there is, but I am content to believe it isn't.