Animal Interactions

I’m super busy today and don’t really have time to write, but I may as well take a few minutes while I eat to mention a few things.

I booked Friday off as a vacation day and went to the zoo. It was a beautiful day, and – unfortunately – a PA Day. So there were tons of hairless apes and their offspring around to ruin my zen. And my zen was not that zen-y, as I have been rather beaten down emotionally as of late.

Anyway, I saw Hudson the polar bear I love for the first time in almost 4 years! I knew it was him pretty much immediately, and while he went about his own thing, he did turn that articulating nose of his my way a few times, which was more than enough to convince me to go with my plan of visiting him as often as possible while he’s here, in the hopes that he’ll get to know me a little again. We’ll see.

He is enormous now – like, bigger than his father at 1200-ish lbs! Kind of horrifying, really. And I admit to wondering if polar bears can actually weigh TOO much. Like, might he develop arthritis or heart problems after dragging around so much weight for a few years? Has anyone studied such things? It would have to be done with captive bears, because all of the bears in the wild are basically starving to death. Obesity is not an issue for them.

Anyway, aside from his insane size, Hudson is every bit the bear I know and love. His face, the way he walks and plays and his Mona Lisa smile – all exactly as I remember. And while I didn’t cry like I thought I would (I’m all over the emo map lately), I was very happy to see him. I hope to connect with him again over the winter. Maybe that will help me reconnect with everything else again.

‘Cause if the bear can’t do it, no one can!

But I suspect he can. 🙂

p1110270

Volunteering has gone pretty well the past few weeks, too. I’m still taking it week to week, and things haven’t quite settled down yet from all the previous upheaval, but they are getting there. Most of the animals who are left seem to be doing better than they were at first, so that’s a good thing. There’s still a lot I’m not sure about, and I’m taking it week to week – maybe indefinitely – but yesterday was mostly good, so I will probably go this weekend, too.

I bonded with the skunks more yesterday. I actually took a few minutes to get down to their level and talk to them and pet Pepe (I won’t touch the others until they are more comfortable with me in general), and by the time I left, they all seemed fairly okay with me being in their space. We’ll see if that carries through to next week, but for now, it felt like a big step for us.

I also got to chat a bit more with Rapunzel the red lorrie, which was amazing. We’d had our first “conversation” a couple of weeks ago, and that small bond seemed to carry over to yesterday, as well. She came down to my level and even brought a pea from her food dish over to eat next to me while I talked to her. We’re not friends yet, I wouldn’t say, but there’s a bit of familiarity there now, at least.

The biggest surprise of the day was Willow the capybara. I have no idea…apparently she’s a bit horny right now, but for some reason she decided I was the one to love yesterday. We’ve not really interacted much before. I’ve pet her once or twice, and I usually say hello to her when passing by the enclosure she shares with the kangaroos, but I’d never even been in there until yesterday. I went in with the other volunteer, who was going to check their water to see if it needed freshening up before we left for the day. Willow came running over excitedly as soon as I got inside, and jumped up so her front feet were on my back (she would have knocked me over if it had been the front, I think – totally was not expecting that!), and then ran back and forth in front of me a few times before finally just standing still so I could scratch under her jaw, which she loves. As I did that, though, she started licking my forearm, then rubbing her teeth and cheek against it while drooling all over the place.

I guess she was marking me? I have no idea. Just that she was loving me and ignoring everyone else for a bit there.

I’ve never had an experience even remotely like that with her before.

Will be interesting to see how she responds to seeing me next time!

Advertisements

Mundane Inspiration

So freaking tired guys!

It’s been building for over a week now, really, and each night I seem to get less and less sleep, so struggle more and more the next day. I’m pretty sure I’m approaching the giggly delusion stage, though, so I ought to be fun to hang out with any time now!

If all goes according to plan, however, I should be able to go back to bed tomorrow morning, after I take care of the critters who live with me. That should help some, I think.

A co-worker mentioned something earlier that caught my attention a little bit. Something about respecting people who “tell it like it is” (and I was thinking, “only if they’re right”), and then he said he was a Sagittarius, and that they are generally quite blunt about expressing what they think. I was thinking I’m a Virgo, and am generally consumed with a myriad of unspoken thoughts. I wonder if other Virgos are, too, or if it’s just a shy person kind of thing.

I hate conflict, so am the first to back down when one arises – at least in terms of expressing my true opinion, thought, or emotion. Most often, though, I keep it all to myself, and have entire conversations which remain largely just in my head. I don’t know why, exactly. I probably appear ambivalent or un-invested, but there’s a full on storm raging inside, more often than not. I don’t feel like the expression of it would do any good, however, so that’s one reason why I keep it to myself. I also suck at expressing myself in idle conversation, let alone when stronger emotions are involved, and usually need to take time to think about what I want to say before I say it. Like…a couple of days or so.

That’s why Tim does most of the talking when we interview people. I can’t often think of anything to say and tend to just listen instead. Which isn’t a bad thing. It does keep me on the periphery a lot, though. And denies the world access to my bone-chilling brilliance, of course.

Can intelligence chill bones?

I actually had a cool conversation with some co-workers yesterday, near the end of the work day. I can’t even remember why, but I ended up talking about how much I like the sky, and how I don’t think I’m meant to live in cities with concrete where there should be trees, and how near the top of my bucket list is that I want to spend time in each province and territory in Canada before I die. Like, not live there, but not just drive through, either. I’ve only ever been in Ontario and parts of Quebec.  I haven’t even been to either coast in my own country.  I think a week or two for each province/territory would be ideal – travelling around, seeing sights, sometimes just sitting still and allowing myself to become immersed in the space around me. I want to take a billion pictures in each area – mostly landscape and nature and wildlife, of course. I want to try foods that are new to me, but local to the area. Experience things that locals do, rather than typical tourist draws, even though I want to see those, too.

Tourism is a funny thing, really. Like, it’s a way of presenting the area in which you live – what makes it unique, what will draw people to the area and maybe even make them want to come back. What will grab a stranger’s attention? What do we want someone to think of where we live, after they’ve gone? What can we highlight, which will give them the best of us and what we have to offer?

And yet, no one who actually lives there really does any of that stuff. It’s taken for granted, because it’s your life, your home, and when you live there, you can see and do all of those things all the time. It’s no longer special or unique, and often you find yourself annoyed at the very tourists you were highlighting things to bring in. You mock their eagerness to take pictures of things that you pass every day on the way to work. As a kid, I used to get so excited to go to the CNE each year for my birthday, because part of that trip meant riding the SUBWAY! And then a STREETCAR! All before we even got to the exhibition grounds!

These days, though, I want to murder people on public transit with my bear hands, and I think my silent homicidal thoughts in their general directions. The subway and streetcar no longer hold that giddy, child-like joy for me. Rather, I am sick of them both, most days.

To be fair, though, I do get excited the first time I get to ride on a NEW transit vehicle, so I guess there is still a glimmer of that original shine, on occasion, after all.

The point is, I want to see some of the things that make other parts of Canada unique; the things that a given area is proud to show off about itself, even as the locals are over them for their normalcy. But I also want to glimpse, where possible, a bit of what the locals DO get excited about. Like, if you get the chance to treat yourself to dinner out, where do you most like to go? What’s your favourite meal to order there? Which alcoholic beverage is your go-to when you are out with friends? Just kind of get an idea of how people live in other parts of this vast country, of which I’ve only ever seen a tiny percentage. That kind of thing fascinates me, even as I allow myself to get caught up in their mundane.

Because no matter how over something we are ourselves, there’s always someone for whom it is brand new and special.

I want more of that.

The Lying Wall

I once dated a person who was, for all intents and purposes, a chronic liar. And when I say ‘dated’, I mean moved in with and tried to forge a relationship. I knew about 2 weeks in about the constant lying; about how very little of what she shared about herself and her life was untrue, yet I slipped easily into the role of placating and enabling. There was much more there, to my mind, so to me it was worth it. At least I went in with eyes wide open, I figured, and the lies were mostly unimportant, in that I didn’t care if a particular event happened or didn’t happen in her past – I was dealing with the person in front of me, instead. I felt at the very least it was a good exercise in learning compassion, empathy and patience. I tried to be supportive of the person standing in front of me, even as I took everything said with a grain of salt. Or a silo of salt, depending on the circumstance.

Anyway, this isn’t really about trying to defend either one of us. We all make choices, and we all live with them. Whatever.

The interesting thing is how the whole experience bled over into the rest of my life, even to this day, though to a much, much lesser degree.

I spent just over a year in that relationship, and apparently that was enough to form certain habits in my relations with other people. Friends, mostly, because I only had one actual relationship after that, but really, it’s affected everything in some form or another.

I didn’t notice it until that next relationship, but that’s likely because that was the first person I allowed myself to really get closer to, and be vulnerable with. It’s an odd experience, to remain vulnerable and honest when you don’t really believe what the other person is presenting to you. When you see mostly a façade, yet allow yourself to be open and real…it’s peculiar. One would think, looking at it from the outside, that it would be difficult to just be yourself, and not put your own guard up, as well. But I think it’s actually easier that way. Like how actors often feel more free on stage than in one-on-one scenarios. There’s something liberating about being able to just put yourself out there and not be too concerned with what will get reflected back to you. When you talk to a brick wall, you don’t worry about what it thinks of you; you just talk. And when it goes a step further to reflect only acceptance and love as a reward for opening up, it actually feels pretty good. You’re still aware that it’s a façade and only partly true, but part-real love is better than all-real hate any day.

When you are open to accept any amount of positivity, it’s amazing where you can find it, and how far even a little bit can go.

There are, of course, downsides. One is that eventually the lies will be about you, so if you’re not at least a little confident, that can be destructive. I lucked out somehow, because while most of my confidence was shattered by my own mind, at the time, where this liar chose to strike was in a ridiculous area that didn’t really affect me at all. The insinuation that I had removed a small amount of cash from a place where I didn’t even know there was any – after I’d just “loaned” her $1500 (which I also knew would never be paid back) – was pretty ludicrous. I think I actually laughed at the accusation, but I can’t really remember. It affected me that little.

No, the lies that turned on me were not very severe, and far too familiar to what had been said about her ex when they broke up. They were a non-issue, and nowhere near what I’d been expecting.

Weird to be in a relationship and just waiting for both shoes to drop and the lies to become more personal.

Another downside is the one that has stayed with me, and that is in the distance I create between myself and other people in my life now, and ever since. Whatever barrier I’d put up between her and I has basically stayed up. I guess it was more around me than it was between us, and I sometimes still catch myself questioning things more than I’ve been given reason to. Questioning or doubting…the assumption that no one is being completely honest with me is a tricky path to navigate sometimes. It doesn’t stop me from being open with other people, but it does stop me from accepting any kind of real affection or other positive emotion.

I just don’t believe anyone.

I mean, I can’t blame that all on this one person, of course. I know the sensation existed long before that; for as long as I can remember. But it was such an easy mindset to slide into, and not even notice it until more than a decade later. As well, it’s one thing to notice, but another to dismantle and re-create something else. My therapist has given me crap for that more times than I can count; for not looking at her during a session, for not allowing an actual connection to be established, for denying myself the ability to see for myself how someone else feels about me, and how in the moment they are. Even with her, part of my brain knows I’m paying her to listen to me, and thus doesn’t completely receive anything more personal from her.

Usually when she says something nice to her, I tell her she must be drunk. It’s our little joke; one that she only puts up with to a point.

I remember describing how my first therapist was kind of like a hologram to me; that she didn’t exist outside her office space. That she was just there for me to vent, and when I left the room, she ceased to exist. She broke the barrier one day by touching my arm out of genuine concern, and the realization that she was an actual human being crashed in on my consciousness with more force than I ever would have believed possible. Had anyone asked me before that moment if she was real, I would have said, “yes, of course she is” and thought the other person was a tad loony. But I didn’t really feel it – didn’t know it with my full being – until that day.

It’s a weird barrier. It allows me to feel safe enough to be open and express myself more than I did before the liar came into my life and I constructed this particular wall in response. But it doesn’t allow me to receive anything real from anyone else. As an added bonus, it also allows me to blow perceived negativity way out of proportion if I think there is any directed at me. It basically skews my reality, even as it allows me to express myself more.

In other news, I’m looking into possibly working with some cool writing prompts, just for fun. I maaay even post the results of some of those exercises here! Stay tuned!

Trigger Event

I love talking to writers, talking about writing, and creating things in general.  So the fact that Tim and I get to cover the Toronto Screenwriting Conference each year is kind of amazing.  It seems to get even more incredible every year, too.  Today, my brain was full by lunch!

During one session, we were challenged to come up with a pilot sequence of events for our own lives.  This process included the need for a trigger event, also known as an inciting incident, for our protagonist.  For ourselves.

One jumped immediately to mind, probably because it’s recently come to the forefront in another post.  I figured it couldn’t hurt to take a slightly closer look at it.

Back in, like, 2002 or so, I acquired a strange kind of confidence somehow.  I wasn’t happy, exactly, but I felt in control of my life, I guess.  I believed I could choose my own path.  I got off the phone at work one day after etting a client know his order was in stock and would be shipping out to him shortly.  He was a teacher, and was so thrilled at the thought of how excited the kids in his class would be once they product arrived.

When I hung up the phone, I marvelled at how incredible it would be to be that passionate about your job.  I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be excited about work.

That was the day I decided to go to teacher’s college.

I didn’t think in terms of trying to get into teacher’s college.  I simply believed I would.

I started doing research – which programs I would apply to, which area of focus, what kind of criteria I needed on my application, etc.  I planned it all out, completely confident in my abilities.  I knew what kind of teacher I would be, and was certain that my years of life experience contributed to my future success in ways that wouldn’t have worked out the same way if I’d applied when I was younger and in school the first time around.

When I met Tane, I told her I was planning to go to teacher’s college.  I was even pretty sure we’d start dating.  I felt like I could have my pick, and I chose her.  As our relationship grew, that factored into our plans the whole time.  It was never a question or in any way uncertain. I planned it as though it was a foregone conclusion.  I got my application together, I went to the interview.  I took all the required steps, and worked with my partner to prepare for all the big changes that were coming our way.

As predicted, I got into school.  I’d only applied to one, so confident was I.  I quit smoking, which I was also certain I could do.  I worked out a scenario with my employer to keep me on part time, but in a different position.  A new one, which I would help create and define.

I was the shit, everything was coming up Sue, and I was on top of the world.

Then the cheating started, and the lying, and everything I thought I knew was turned upsidedown.   Self-doubt came roaring in, and suddenly everything I had been certain of began crumbling down around me.  I moved out of the home I’d made, I started drinking more in lieu of smoking, I started school but couldn’t focus.  Forgot to even take a pen it’s me the first day.  I froze up inside and couldn’t find my footing.  Everything was uncertain.  I didn’t know who I was anymore.  All I knew was that I had been wrong.

I was not the shit.

And if I could be wrong about some basic qualities of my perceived self, then it seemed possible that I could be wrong about all of it.  My sense of value and self-worth was destroyed; my confidence irreparably shattered.  I became a different person, and the only thing I was certain of was that I’d been so wrong, about everything.  I was not a good partner, I was not a good friend, I would not make a good teacher, and the fact that I barely graduated only seemed further proof of that fact.

Wherever that odd sense of confidence had come from, it was gone.  Even now, I can’t remember what it felt like.  My sense of certainty and self-assurance feels like I watched it happen to someone else, yet the sense of worthlessness exists in some form or another to this day.  That loss of believing in myself changed everything.  Changed me.  I’m hidden away now, not to protect myself from the world, but to protect the world from me – from my arrogance, from my misplaced confidence, from my complete presence.  I walk upon the earth much more softly now, as though I carry an apology I can never truly make.

I’m sorry.  I was wrong.

 

Is It Just Me?

Sometimes hats give me headaches.

Sometimes ponytails do, too. Or did, when I had long hair. Possibly will again now that my hair is longer than it’s been in well over a decade.

Does anyone else ever have weird things go on with their bodies, but because it happens all the time to you, you find yourself wondering if you’re the only one, or if people just don’t mention it in casual conversation?

Like, not weird like a third nipple or extra digit or anything like that. Just odd aches and pains or other sensations that seem to have no obvious root cause. I remember reading a book when I was younger wherein a character – I think a teenaged boy – walked down a hallway at night, and reference was made to his toes popping. My toes totally used to pop all the time – possibly still do, but either not as much or I’ve just gotten so used to it that I don’t even notice anymore – but that was the only reference I’d ever come across in the general public. I don’t even know why they popped so much back then – is it a growing thing, or something? I don’t even know. As far as I could tell, until I read that book, I was the only person on the planet with toes that made popping/cracking sounds as I walked. It was just never spoken of before, nor since, really, whether it was weird and unique or not.

I’m thinking it’s a pretty common thing, though, if it was mentioned briefly in a book.

I’ve felt for a long time that bodies are just plain odd, and that there is still more that we don’t know about them than we do. Or maybe “odd” is the wrong word. Maybe I mean more complicated and unpredictable. It’s kind of remarkable that we all look basically alike, as a species, and yet there are literally billions of differences. Maybe even countless differences. We don’t all grow the same, parts don’t all work the same, things don’t all develop the same way, and then there are all the things that can go wrong throughout the course of a lifetime.

Having MS has introduced a whole new equation into my relationship with my body, too. For the most part now, when something different happens – some new pain, tingling sensation, numbness, vision problems – whatever the issue is that’s been introduced, my first thought is that it must just be an MS thing. For the most part, it’s all little things, temporary things, but my go-to explanation is MS.

Which…hopefully I don’t dismiss any symptoms of something else as just an MS thing! That has the potention for badness. So far, however, I’m usually floating between “it’s an MS thing”, or “it’s a my wacky body thing”, or sometimes even “it’s happened for as long as I can remember, so it might just be my body, or maybe I had MS the whole time and it’s always been an MS thing”. Who knows, really?

It’s funny, though, when a thread of commonality is found with another person, the sensation of relief, and humour and just momentary connection that’s made in that instant of recognition. That vocalization of “oh my God ME TOO!” holds so much emotion and connection in just a few simple words, and creates a bond of similarity between two otherwise different beings.

I have a ton of such little things, aside from the popping toes. Most of them involve pain, because that’s more noticeable and easier to remember when blogging. Examples include: if someone makes me laugh while I am eating, I invariably end up with a piercing pain at the back of my jaw – where my upper and lower jaws hinge together, actually. Like, horrible stabbing pain. Sometimes when I am walking I’ll suddenly be struck by pain so awful I wonder if my toes have actually all broken right off, and are just kept on my foot by skin and my shoes. In my mind, I picture them flapping uselessly, and painfully, in my sock. It’s so bad I end up with a pronounced limp until the feeling passes. Often for no reason I can think of, a stitch of pain in my side or across my chest will hit hard and fast, and be so bad that I can not draw a full breath until it passes, as well.

In the not painful but super annoying category, I sometimes experience a sudden ringing in either one ear or both, and usually it’s so loud that I actually can’t hear much of anything for a few seconds. It always fades quickly, though. A drive-by ringing. And for as long as I can remember, whenever I’ve had a certain level of nightmare, a muscle somewhere in my mid-lower back goes into spasm and not only wakes me up, but takes a concerted effort to calm down enough that I can stop my back from arching. I long ago began to equate that sensation with terror, so even when I’ve gotten a massage before, I’ve had to tell the person to stay away from that area of my back entirely. I can’t tell exactly where the muscle is, and by the time I realize it’s close, the muscle has been triggered and it feels all manner of not good. So brutal.

Has anyone else noticed that it’s very difficult to hear anything when you’re yawning – almost like being under water? Or is that just me?

I’m telling you – bodies are weird! And living inside them is an adventure and a half, whether we asked for it, or not! And we’re all doing it differently, with tiny sparks of common experience thrown in for good measure. I think we even experience feelings in different ways, just as we all process information and the world around us from differing perspectives.

And there are billions of us. No wonder we can’t get along, so hung up on difference as we are. The human race needs more “OMG ME TOO” moments in our days, methinks.

Generations

I’m a child of the 80’s. Even though I was born in the early 70’s, I feel like it was the 80’s that really defined me. Or began my definition, at least. The music, the TV shows, the movies…not the fashion so much, maybe, but was anyone really defined by 80’s fashion? Well, maybe acid wash.

At any rate, the 80’s were what I’d consider my real formative years. Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, The Boss, WHAM, Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams (on vinyl, of course); Silver Spoons, Facts of Life, Family Ties and V watched as it aired, until we got a VCR; Goonies, Back To The Future, ET: The Extra Terrestrial, the Karate Kid, and of course the remaining two films in the original Star Wars trilogy on the big screen. So much neon. High top running shoes. White freaking pants. Over-sized sweaters and t-shirts. Riding our bikes around town. Heading home when the streetlights came on. Walking to the convenience store/gas station at the top of town for snacks on a Friday night. Having to take a bus to high school because it was in a different, slightly larger town.

And then, once we were in high school, the world seemed bigger and the possibilities kinda endless. I did a lot of things academically in high school, but I wish I’d done more. It was really the only time you could really experiment with things and not have to commit to a whole stream of study. You could try a sport or a club or a class or other extracurricular activity and not have to make it your life. I think I mostly did stuff I already liked – music, for the most part – and didn’t really try much for the hell of it. I took a visual arts class just because I could. And joined a couple of sports teams early on, but that was pretty short-lived. Still, there was lots to do and learn, if one wanted to, and I’d say I was involved at an average level. It was high school. I wasn’t super popular, but I had a few friends and we had fun together and that’s what matters.

When I came time to start choosing what to do after graduation, I don’t remember really thinking about it very much. I assumed I was going to university, and I had no idea what for, but I was sure it’d be great. I can’t remember what I thought I was going to do…I’m pretty sure “English Major” wasn’t my end game, and I started university as a Psych major, but for the first year, that rarely means anything. I took Psych 100 and 4 other 100-level classes that were the norm. English, Philosophy, Sociology…yeah, I can’t even remember that much. Maybe I took 2 English-like courses? I don’t know. I didn’t have to declare a major in any of the things I was taking, because they weren’t that locked down. Not like being a doctor, or something, where you have to take specific courses most of your post-secondary career.

In my final year of high school, I remember my mom talking about how there were basically only, like, 2 different streams to choose from, and whichever you chose made up the rest of your educational track. But for me, at the time, the world was my oyster. I could do anything I wanted, be anything I wanted. All I had to do was choose and work for it and it would be mine.

The only real problem is I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do. I had no idea. Definitely never aspired to retail, but that still leaves a lot of options. Maybe I couldn’t choose just one, out of all the things I thought I might like to do with my life.

I still have no idea, actually.

Looking back, I almost wish I hadn’t had as much choice. I mean, it’s hard to know what you’d like to do if it’s something you haven’t actually done yet. Haven’t tried, I mean. Maybe I should have done some co-op placements or internships somewhere, but in little towns, that doesn’t really come up as an option. I know I thought about going into Public Relations, which NOW would be pretty awesome, if I’d done that. I think. I’ve never done anything in that field, though, so I don’t really know. I don’t think I would have liked being a journalist, because I don’t like talking to people. I’d probably love working with animals, but maybe I just love being around them. It’s hard to know for sure, because I’ve never worked with them.

I thought it would be terrible to go through school for something, only to find that you don’t really like it, and have to start all over again.

Yet here I am, with two bachelor degrees (one in English, one in Education), and I’ve spent the majority of my adult life working in retail, because – of course. What the hell does one do with an English degree? Teach. And yet I have never found employment as a teacher, either, so…retail it is.

Those who can’t do, teach. But what those who can’t teach do? Work in retail, apparently.

I wonder how different things would be if I’d had less choice? Would I be better off? Or worse? Or just different?

I can totally just change my career at any point – or, like, GET a career. But again, what do I want to do?

I have no idea.

Does an abundance of choice end up stalling a person, I wonder? Maybe I’m still just going over my choices to see what I want to be when I grow up.

Adulting is hard.

(How’s THAT for good English talking?)

I wonder sometimes what it’s like for kids now. So much has changed since I was young. “Back in MY day…”

I had my first email address when I was in 4th year University (so 22 or 23 years old), and my first cell phone when I was 30 years old. Growing up we got 2 channels, sometimes 3 if the weather was nice.

Now I have to choose which shows to watch On Demand, because my PVR will only record two at a time. And that’s not even advanced technology, because I am broke.

I know other 80’s kids relate to the basics of growing up in that era. We all watched pretty much the same shows, listened to the same music, saw the same movies. We can smile and reminisce together even if we haven’t seen one another over the past 20 years or more.

Do the generations since then have the same kind of connection? Or does more choice create a gap in the generational experience? With hundreds of channels and even more content available online, are the teens of 2016 watching the same television shows and movies? Are they enjoying the same music and playing the same songs over and over and rocking the same silly dance moves? Will they connect with others of their generation two decades from now, based on shared memories of a time they all lived through, without having met one another until much later in life?

Will those defined by these years of multiple choices find common ground with one another the way children of the 80’s do? Or children of the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s…every decade has had its common experience, at least until more recently.

I wonder if they still do? Or are we just all floating in a sea of our own choosing, connecting on many different shared experiences, instead of a few?

Maybe I should have put this much thought into what I wanted to do when I grew up, huh?