A wise friend, a few years older than me, told me that the surrender thing [i.e., admitting that I can’t do it all, that some dreams won’t come true] gets easier at age 30. So far that hasn’t been true for me, though.
The list of things I want to do in life may have focused a little — and maybe that’s what she meant — but it’s still a long list.
I still dream. I’m still passionate about what-feels-like too many things.
But rather than being forced to surrender (or, if not to surrender then to write off much this life has to offer, as Linda Holmes beautifully framed a dichotomy) I choose — today, at least — to embrace that tension. To live, knowing I won’t get to read anywhere close to all the books I could have loved (not to mention the music, film, visual art) and still not write off huge swaths of art as not worth my time.
I live in that state of semi-depression, surrounded by the things I don’t have time for, but not willing to admit (all that often) how stringent my limitations actually are. Maybe this is what Holmes was saying, actually.
And what happens when you throw into this mix the contention that one must read a book 5 times to actually have read it?