I’m tired of stark, deathly stories about loss and grit in poorly defined post-apocalyptic worlds. I’m tired of everyone doing their best “The Road” impression writing stark sentences. That move like this. About death.
You could’ve been a hero. Now you’re just a man who played baseball.
Time is a currency. Spend it well.
Find an honest reason you want to do something and you will get it done!
It seemed like a basic premise.
I didn’t crash and burn. Nobody noticed or cared, cringed or wrote a think-piece. We were seventeen, in a pre-Twitter world, and the misstep was private.
We got this.
You have to be yourself, but you have to find who that self is.
You can move mountains. You will, almost inevitably: you’ll improve even by accident. Time does that.
You might not know what you want to put out into the world. I know I don’t. It’s a paralysis.