I'm doing little computer projects in a coffee shop in Newberg. Next to me there's a table of college boys slung over their chairs, philosophizing. "Isn't the truest form of literature to connect your own story to another story?" Hum.
It's making me think back and remember. I remember that I loved being in college. It was so fun and stimulating and interesting and deep. I felt so intelligent, like my thoughts were just fascinating and brilliant all of the time (except after a lame test or an argument, but I blamed those on lack of sleep or..., certainly not my own inadequacy). I drank a lot of coffee and sat around theorizing about the meaning of life and reading thick books with small print. Profound.
It's been a few years. I've learned that my thoughts are certainly not brilliant, fascinating and wonderful all the time....maybe not even most of the time. On occasion, I'll hatch a good one, but I can't promise to deliver it in an eloquent or poetic way like I used to. I've realized that it's a lot more enjoyable to live a little slower, a little more practical, a little more down to earth.
I guess maybe I'm growing up or something. I am almost thirty, so I guess it's about time. I like now better. That's nice. I wonder what I'll look back at in another ten years...