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When you give a fuck about too many things, you can’t focus on giving a fuck only about the things that bring you joy or truly matter. In the same way you tackle your wild sock drawer, you have to systematically go through all the fucks you’re giving, sort them into piles, and throw away the ones sapping your energy for absolutely no good reason.
Whether it was graduations (someone was always matriculating), the Ketteler picnic (my dad’s side), or the Seiler Reunion (my mom’s), being with my cousins in the summer came to equal a kind of freedom.
In this lifetime, we diagnose, we intervene, and we make life better. So why does it feel so much like we’re fucking up the end game?
What I can’t decide now is whether I want my 7-year-old daughter to walk the same path as me. Maybe I could save her from it.