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My first relationship, four and a half years ago, was largely unhappy, and I haven't had much more experience since. They aren't bad memories. It's difficult to identify with myself as I was at that time.
It isn't so much the consequences of scant experience on the understanding of romance which concerns me, so much as the lack of opportunities to express the evolution of my understanding; and my understanding has really evolved, in spite of the few channels through which it finds expression in my recent life.
Maybe in the next few years I'll feel more pressed for time. Our present world is so poorly designed to the end of fruitful socialization. I fantasize constantly about living alone in the woods, and perceive myself walking, reading, and writing to pass the time, or else simply sitting still. I feel more tired of people, rather than less, because of how skilled they seem to be at hurting themselves and others. But, all the same, people are constantly surprising me.
I raise a glass to your good health.
It feels like all our progress is headed towards turning everything into a plastic shell. Cheap to produce, easy to sell, quick to replace. Every aspect of life is being turned into an opportunity for monetization and automation, to the detriment of its depth. But people shouldn't be made into selfish hive machines. This will bite the modern society really hard down the road — and I'm not even talking about environmental issues. An alternative must be pursued, where some inconvenience is welcomed, some selflessness is virtuous, some patience rewarded.
Your fantasy is eerily close to mine. We would probably make good neighbors, living slowly across a meadow and a stream. Thoreauvian ideas are quite close to my heart. One chair for solitude, two for friendship, and three for society. If only living in such a simple way was more attainable!
To the health and blooming maturity of us and all!