We think we know
everything from day one. We think we can be the best we can be, fall in love
with the person who will do the same for longer than forever, get the job we’re
destined for (and be good at it), and wrap up the story of our lives at the age
of early twenty-something.
Then it happens.
It messes up. It gets
knocked off course. We get into arguments with ourselves as we struggle to get
the things we want while ensuring that we will always have what we need. Some
of us confuse our impulsive desires with our practical necessities. The fine
line between good and bad get a little bit thicker, until the line is no longer
a line but instead a place.
And in this place – the
place where all us twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, ongoing something people
wander – lies our justifications for all the things we have done and all the
lives that we have affected. We call ourselves good people, but quite honestly,
we have all done our share of pissing people the fuck off.
We are assholes with an
explanation. That’s who we are. It’s what we do. We are the assholes, and we
spend our entire lives explaining why. Isn’t that it? Lest we can be the ones
who acknowledge this to stay grounded, but still try to become better people.
