[b]Liane Moriarty
You could try as hard as you could to imagine someone else’s tragedy—drowning in icy waters, living in a city split by a wall—but nothing truly hurts until it happens to you.[/b]
You’d think that would go without saying.
It wasn’t logical, but the better you knew someone, the more blurry they became. The accumulation of facts made them disappear.
And you can take that to the mirror.
Did anyone really know their child? Your child was a little stranger, constantly changing, disappearing and reintroducing himself to you. New personality traits could appear overnight.
The post-modern child she means.
Everyone wanted to be rich and beautiful, but the truly rich and beautiful had to pretend they were just the same as everyone else.
Not anymore, right?
There were worse things to be than sexist. For example, you could be the sort of person who pinched your fingers together while using the words “teeny weeny.”
We’ll need a context of course.
None of us ever know all the possible courses our lives could have, and maybe should have taken.
Though some will think about that constantly.