All the Hate Mail!

- an elan gale nightmare - a blog - a disease - a problem - a dog without a home

Help Me Save A Dog!

Hey everyone who reads this!

It recently came to my attention that a really cool dog I know named Lucy has Lymphoma and needs to go through chemotherapy in order to see the rest of her happy dog days.

We all know how devastating it is to lose a dog. They’re a part of our family. They’re the beings we can count on to love us no matter how terrible we look and to act like fools and lick up our tears when we are sad. They’re smelly, but so are we sometimes, so we shouldn’t hold that against them.

Anyway, I thought there could be a fun way to help Lucy’s owner pay for the chemo while strengthening our bond to each other and have some weird experiences along the way.

Here’s my proposal:

I will do you a favor. I’ll basically do whatever. If you want me to write you a story or sing you a song or just want me to shut up and take a vow of silence for a day so I’ll stop clogging your timelines, I’ll do it. If you live in the LA area and you want me to do your laundry, or cook dinner for you and a few friends (it may not be good) or you want me to buy you coffee or you want me to come to your child’s soccer game and root against the other team…

Basically, I’ll do anything reasonable as long as it’s not illegal and there’s no nudity involved. Like, at all. 

Send me the favor you want me to do and the amount of the donation you think it’s worth to and we’ll make a deal.

For more info on Lucy, click here

You can also just donate a few bucks if you have it in your heart. Either way, I really appreciate you taking the time to read this and I bet we can make this into a cool story we can remember later on. And then maybe we’ll throw a party with Lucy as the guest of honor. 



Let’s Have Coffee

Walking to dinner I ran into a guy I hadn’t seen in about ten years.

We went to different high schools and on weekends we would each invite the other one over to our respective side of town to mingle with “the others.”

One time, when we were 16, we kissed the same girl at a party but neither of us knew until later. We had a pretty good laugh about it. One time we saw a guy get shot in the leg on the Santa Monica pier. His mother was a psychologist and he didn’t care for her very much. 

This is all I know about this person.

"Hey, Elan!" he said. And I responded, using his name. 

And then we were kind of at a stand-still. We both kind of breathed and looked around and then in an effort to break the silence I said “Let’s have coffee.”

"Sounds good," he said, and we kind of did a handshake hug and we both kept going, off to live the lives we were living mere moments before. 

To be honest, me saying “let’s have coffee” was a lie. Not because I’m against it, but certainly because I won’t. And here’s the thing:

The reason I won’t get a coffee with this guy is not because I don’t like him or think he’s worthwhile or find him interesting or anything like that. 

The reason I won’t get a coffee with him is because doing so would be even more of a lie than when I originally said “let’s have coffee.”

In ten years, I’ve put absolutely no effort into seeing this person, to becoming more acquainted with his life, or to even psychologically nurture the relationship we once had. In this modern age, if I really wanted to ever talk to him, ever, I probably could, and yet, for ten years, I chose not to.

So, now, just because I’m uncomfortable on a sidewalk because we end up in the same place with nothing to say to each other I’m supposed to disregard ten years of history? Sure, we had a nice friendship, but the majority of our relationship is actually us really not caring about each other at all.

The best way to be this guy’s friend is to treat him with honesty, and the only way to treat him with honesty is to do what I’ve always done for the majority of the time we’ve known each other: pretend he doesn’t exist.


To whom it may concern, 

Which is probably no one. 

It was really amazing that day when a big voice came from the sky and took over everything and told us that it was time to pick eternity.

We are all pretty surprised. Basically, in case you don’t know, the voice told us that we had actually finally figured out a lot of the world’s problems and considering how we had done as a species up to then, the voice was pretty impressed. The voice told us that we could pick a day and a time and at that point all time would stop and we wouldn’t have death anymore and we would just kind of live forever, which was apparently the goal.

For a long time, there were a lot of questions and not too many answers, but after the dust had settled, all the world leaders got together and they picked a date and a time and they all voted on on it and they actually all agreed. It was the first time that every leader of every nation on earth agreed to anything. We were all going to live forever. It was a pretty big moment of celebration.

But it was also a pretty short moment. 

It only took a couple of days before everyone else realized that the leaders of the world were all okay with picking a date that was soon because that meant that when time stopped they’d be the leaders of the world, and that they’d get to continue to be the leaders of the world.

Suddenly, there were a lot of angry groups of people. Not the usual terrorists and anarchists. These were just regular people.

Old people felt it was unfair to have to be old forever. Sick people were afraid they’d never be able to die. Newly pregnant women couldn’t believe their children would never be born. Parents of all ages didn’t want their kids to never grow up. Kids didn’t want to be kids. 

Quickly, nobody wanted to be anything, at least not forever.

The world leaders were overthrown and one after another, smaller groups came into power, claiming to be the ones who would take care of all of us. Soon, they too were thrown out and everything kind of dissolved into nothingness. 

We were at war constantly. The one thing that everyone had agreed on was now the thing that no one could agree on.

So, that’s when the bombings started. And they got worse and worse and soon the nuclear bombs came out. Before we knew it, there weren’t that many people left to have to agree, but still we couldn’t.

Some people wanted to wait for peace. Some wanted to wait for more births. Some probably just wanted to die before they were going to be stuck here forever.

The big voice in the sky gave us the choice and we still haven’t made it.

I haven’t seen anyone in a long time. 

I don’t know if I’m the only one left but if I am, I’m not going to choose. Kind of doesn’t seem worth it any more. We should have just gone on living for now, because the promise of forever became the promise of never.

I guess I just feel like you should live for something for as long as you can rather than wanting to live forever for nothing.

Anyway, if you’re reading this, you can choose. I’m not going to.


No one in particular 

Important Thoughts Vol. 162

  • The reason that suits have ties is because most people wearing them are often engaged in activity that deserves a good and serious choking
  • You can’t ever accurately figure out what you were thinking in any moment other than the present because your mind has settled on a “truth” and the possibilities you considered before arriving at that truth are subsequently weakened in value. The only way to even come close to understanding your decision-making processes is to overcompensate and assume that everything you have ever decided is wrong
  • Daylight Saving Time is an elaborate scheme by Swiss watchmakers, assuring that you will look down at your watch an additional two times a year, increasing the chances that you will get sick of your timepiece and replace it
  • Most therapists that treat paranoid patients actually DO want to kill them, but that is a result of how annoying paranoid people are
  • This is how we are spending this moment together 

Stranger Stalk

When I travel, I always set aside at least half a day to play a little game I call “Stranger Stalk.” It’s a great way to learn a lot about a new city and get a feeling for how the locals behave and get an idea for fun things to do.

Here’s how it works:

1. Sit at a cafe and keep an eye out for groups of two or more. I recommend really focusing on people in their late 20’s and early 30’s, as they’re most likely to have interesting lives.
2. Pick your Stranger. What you’re looking for here is someone who arrives with someone, but leaves alone. This helps assure that the person you’ll be following is a social animal and not just a complete weirdo who will murder you when they spot you following them.
3. It’s important to pick someone who seems on slightly near average in every way. Don’t pick someone super good looking or someone who is really well dressed or someone with an incredible haircut or weird piercings. Chances are, you will either end up chained in a sex dungeon or arguing with the doorman at a trendy club if you don’t look for an average Joe or Jane.
4. Start the chase. If it’s your first time, just get up and casually follow them. (Wear sunglasses so they can’t see you!) If you’re more experienced, like me, you’ll enjoy what I call spotting, where you must challenge yourself by letting them get completely out of your line of sight, count to 100 and then try to track them down by running through the streets. It adds an element of fun and is great cardio!
5. Have lunch where they have lunch. Have dinner where they have dinner. Go the bar they go to afterwards. Never say hello but if you’re at a nice restaurant, make sure to casually play with your knife with the sharp tip against the fatty part of your left thumb to make sure they know you shouldn’t be messed with. (This is a JUST IN CASE).
6. If they seem cool, when they are done, thank them and give them a small cash tip. I recommend $12.00.

You’ll see a lot of historical landmarks like “Where that guy eats ribs” and “That really loud place to scream into a cell phone.”

Oh, and if you do this, you didn’t hear it from me. I’m pretty sure it’s really illegal and dangerous but hey, what isn’t these days? Yolo!

I’m Not Superstitious

All superstitious people start their superstitious stories by saying:

"I’m not superstitious…but…"

and I’m not a superstitious person.


I am not interested in ouija boards or ghost hunters or psychic readings or UFOs.


The sky was mist and the rain was coming and going. I was walking through the seaside shrine in Miyajima, a labyrinth of over-water walkways surrounded by bright orange beams of wood and I saw a humble cedar sign offering fortune telling in exchange for a 100 yen donation, which is about a dollar.

I would never do this. But…

A lacquered wooden chest held 40 small drawers and inside each of them was a note on translucent paper, all in Japanese. I was to shake a box of numbered sticks until one prominently presented itself to me. Then, I was to match the number on my stick to the drawer, open the drawer, and read my future on the provided paper.

Normally I would just laugh at this, but…

36 was my number. 100 Yen poorer, I excitedly opened the drawer, wondering what awaited me. Happiness? Power? No more dentist visits?

Looking as helpless as I am, I was lucky to get some help from a passing woman named Yuhko. She offered to help me translate and I proudly presented her my fortune. Her English wasn’t perfect, but it was 1,000 times better than my Japanese, so I was immensely grateful. Here ya go!

Her face dropped immediately. She didn’t want to read it.


She shook her head, and began…

“Your luck…is the worst. You are the worst. It’s not so bad. But it’s the worst. You should do nothing.”

“What? That’s it?”

“No, would you like me to read more?”
“Please. I’m fine,” I lied.

“Your luck very bad. In matching, like love, you will not find. In gambling, you will lose all you have. Do not move where you live. It will be worse. If you have disease you cannot cure it. It’s better to believe in God because you cannot fix it.”

“Great. Is that it?” I asked.

“Also, do not travel. Do not go East. East is worst direction.”

Well, I’m flying back to Los Angeles tomorrow. And that’s East. And that’s travel. What else you got?

“In business, you will fail. Your family will not be good.”

At this point I’m sure I looked pale and Yuhko was kind enough to make me feel better.

“Do not worry. Luck can not get worse. Try again next year!”

I thanked Yuhko and walked away with the fortune folded in my back pocket, where I keep all terrible news about how my life is going to be a disaster.

Walking back to the hotel I walked by a much smaller Shinto shrine and the sign in front offered wish granting and requested a donation.

I’m not superstitious.


I bowed twice, clapped twice, prayed for my fortune to be revoked, bowed again, left a small donation to the shrine and then I departed. I did everything according to protocol.

I hope things work out. But what am I saying? Nothing is different than it was yesterday. This is all super silly. I don’t believe in any of this. But you better believe I’ve uttered another silent prayer or two since then. To who? To whoever will listen. I’ll literally shout it out to the world.

Okay, let me be clear I’ll do anything to make sure this fortune doesn’t mean anything. I’ll sacrifice some leaves. I’ll spin around and sit and swirl salt water in my mouth. I’ll stand on one foot and bleat like a sheep. I’ll do anything. Please. Please. Please.


I’m not superstitious.


Tetris is a psychotic game.

Let me explain how it works:


Enter you, just a person trying to have a good time in the world and the world says “Here are some weirdly shaped blocks,” and you think “this is going to be fun.”

It’s like childhood. There’s things to do but there’s no accountability. It’s all a bunch of juice and sandboxes and crying and leaving sweatshirts places and having someone else retrieve them for you.

Yeah, four lines at a time in that sweet spot where you get the long Tetris stick of divinity and you’re just thinking, oh man, there’s never going to be anything on the bottom of this screen. No baggage, no accumulation of junk. Just a pristine surface I can ice skate along, frictionless, until the sun sets over the west and the clouds carry me to bed.

Level Up.

Quickly you adjust to being a teenager. Things go a little faster and feel a little more uncomfortable. Everything is changing. You’re growing hair in certain places and things aren’t always sounding right as they come out of your mouth when you’re near that really popular girl and no matter how sure you are that you can rotate that oblong piece enough times all of a sudden it’s upside down and you have this weird empty space underneath some accumulated detritus and this is your first taste of consequence as Jennifer walks away and you realize that not even the long Tetris stick of divinity can go back in time and change what you’ve mucked up.

Level Up.

There’s a couple layers of sediment at the bottom of your life now but you just think of it as a new starting point. “Everything above this certain line is the past and it’s really everything I do from now one that matters” you tell yourself. Sure, your baseline is much closer to total destruction than ever before, but that’s okay, because now you’re in control. Now. Finally. After all this time you’ve finally figured it out.

Level Up.

Time compresses and you think you might be having fun and as a result, it flies by. Suddenly, all this flying compressed time seems to be a bit overwhelming. Your fingers aren’t what they used to be, your eyes are a little weary, your patience is failing and your confidence that you know what you’re doing is starting to actually set you back.You start to realize your mortality. You have moments of overwhelming joy when you properly use your long Tetris stick of divinity, but let me tell ya, it ain’t what it used to be and your wife will even tell you that if you ask her. You realize that you’re now applauding yourself wildly for things you used to do in your sleep. Back when thing were simple. Keep trudging along, though.

Level Up.

It’s really only a matter of time now and you know it. You’ve seen others before you just give up and let it all come crashing down but you’re different. You can’t make any more mistakes. You’ve made them all so far, all by yourself. Now you’re right up against that top wall and those baselines you used to call your past, those things that you said you’d learn from, they’re all basically just sitting there, unevenly distributed blocks just staring at you and smiling and nipping at your heels like ravenous wolves. The ghosts you used to thank for providing you with knowledge are now immovable skeletons that have piled up so quickly in your closet that the only thing you can see anymore is the dangling chain from the ceiling lamp.

Level Up.

You take one final stab at life and the flickering beam from a flashlight with a dying battery is taunting you with false promises of hope. You exert all your energy, your hands and eyes and mind are acting on their own as the minutes and hours and days blend together so smoothly that you no longer even see a sunrise or a sunset, but instead just varying shades of quickly moving gray through your decaying receptors.

And then you die. And everything you’ve built is gone. Not even a monument to your failure remains. It’s just nothing forever.

Want to play again?

Can I Come Over?

If you invite me over, I can assure you I will not feel bad if I ruin your event.

I will pop the bouncy castle. I will French kiss the appetizers and I will swim in the chocolate fountain.

I will go through your medicine cabinet and not only will I report the contents back to the other partygoers, but I will replace all your pills with tropical Tic-Tacs and put all your antidepressants in your precious fondue pot.

I will ram my car into your mailbox and I will fill out a change of address form on your behalf. I will cut down your neighbor’s favorite lemon tree and I will steal your boots and leave muddy tracks from his house to yours.

I will object at your wedding. I will object at your funeral.

I will fill your backyard with manic roosters and I will bury hundreds of alarm clocks in your garden. I will ask your stepfather about “that thing.”

I will independently hire two over zealous cake designers to make the same cake and arrive at the same moment and I will laugh as I watch them fight to the death in your driveway as frosting and fondant cover everything you’ve ever worked for.

I will bring you White Zinfandel.

I will let your cat out. I will let your dog in. I will let your rats do terrible things on your couch. Oh, you don’t have rats? Now you do. I brought them with me.

I will make a fort out of all of your furniture. I will do this in your pool.

I will draw mustaches on all your pictures and on all your friends.

I will hire a sad clown. I will hire a happy mime. I will hire a policeman stripped and then I will call the police.

I will not put down the seat when I am done.

I am very much looking forward to your baby shower. Congratulations again!


Discussing cliches is a great way to waste time.

You really can’t do anything more than once without it being commentary upon itself.

Go to brunch? That’s cool. Take a picture of brunch? Now we’re heading into cliche territory. Take a picture of breakfast? Brunch commentary. Take another picture of brunch and call it brunch commentary? Life commentary. Call it life commentary over brunch? Cliche. Notice someone else doing the same thing? Cliche. Do it again knowing others are noticing your patterns? Brunch commentary. Post modernism.

Call it post modernism? Cliche. Call it po-mo with a smile? Commentary on post modernism as a cliche in a cliche way? Suddenly things are becoming fun again.

Write a blog post about this? Already been done. Recognize that in your blog post? Astute observation. Call yourself astute in a blog post? Gettin’ kinda po-mo. Are you smiling? Okay, you can get away with that cliche.

Still hungry? Did you even have brunch? You didn’t eat. You were taking pictures or not taking pictures and congratulating yourself for not taking pictures or patting yourself on the back for not having your phone on the table or for having it face down, or being okay with having it out because it would be cliche to not have it out because you’d be conforming to cliche “not having phone out” trends.

Super cliche, yo. Super clich. Supe Cleesh.

There’s no way to do anything without it being anything so do everything.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll still make fun of you. But, whatever.

PS. Having a blog is cliche. So is reading one. Sucker.

Miracles Behind Glass

One of the things I like to pay attention to while traveling is how protected things are.

When you step into a palace or into some ruins or onto an old suspension bridge or up the stair of a fortress, how many ropes are there? How many barricades? How many bright red hands that let you know that you have reached the depth of your intimacy with the location?

In the past 24 hours I’ve seen a bronze sculpture that has been in a heavily trafficked area since the early 8th century and a set of miniature porcelain dogs that someone gave to his mother to comfort her on rainy days.

The bronze sculpture was within arm’s reach and could be touched, smelled, interacted with. The miniature dogs were behind double-walled glass and photographs were strictly prohibited.

In Belize I danced on ancient ruins but in London I had to basically lie on the floor and stick my head under a velvet rope to get a look at a couple of nicely upholstered chairs.

Setting aside the differences from place to place, the question is one that seems universal:

Who are we saving this for?

The easy answer is our kids. But we are someone else’s “our kids” and eventually those kids will have kids and in some places they’ll still be standing behind yellow caution tape until one day there are many places left and no one left to stand behind the stantion.

Why are we saving this?

That’s a harder question. I don’t know the right answer but my gut instinct is to think about wedding cakes. Hey, check it out. That’s amazing. Look at all those layers and that rich ganache and can you believe they make edible pearls? Okay, now everyone stand back and no one eat it ever and we’re going to stick it on the other side of the room. Please, no pictures. In thirty years when your kids get married they can come here and look at it and after dinner when they are craving something sweet they can take a butter knife and jam it into a supermarket cupcake because there is no way in hell that their mouths will ever penetrate the perfect facade of this celebration of your partnership.

Why aren’t we trusted?

Well, because we’re not. And to be quite frank it’s one of those sad states where some of us deserve trust but enough of us don’t that as a whole, we just don’t. It’s the same reason there’s security at airports and not just a sign asking you nicely not to blow up a plane. It’s not for you, but it’s for us.

When I look at a miracle, whether it be a mountain, or a temple, or a piece of art, I often find myself wondering:

Should the next 100 generations enjoy this at 50% or should the next 10 enjoy it at 100%? Should my great-great-great-great-great grandkids wink at the statues or should my children make love to them and take in all that they possess?

And how long are we really going to be here anyway?

I don’t know what we should do about any of this. I’m not an expert, but I’m the kind of person who wants to walk right up to the mouth of the leopard and risk getting my neck bit. The danger is not that I will die, but that the leopard will lose it’s taste for man and never get involved with our kind again, self-exiled again to the trees high above us, again out of reach for future generations.

These things won’t change anytime soon and I’m not ever sure they should, but I’m sure of this:

When I stand ten feet back from the thing I most desire I close my eyes and imagine what life would be like if we could all just have what we wanted and drift away into the arms of the Buddha or the mouth of the volcano or dive from the bridge and skim the water like a pelican and live a thousand lives and die a thousand deaths. And then I open my eyes and things are back to normal and I’m just a guy standing behind a rope.

And I can’t wait to have kids and bring them back here and hope I’ve done a good enough job at being a father that they know what I’m talking about when I say that the thing behind the glass they are looking at is a miracle.


It’s remarkably hard to light things on fire. Not that I’m trying. But I’m just saying that it’s a remarkably hard thing to do.

I used to smoke cigarettes and I have a candle or two at home and those things were easy to light on fire but weirdly, there are a lot of things that are difficult to light on fire.

Yesterday I had the sinking feeling that eternity could be a pretty long time if you don’t plan well for it and if you don’t bring the right clothes and music and when I took a step back and tried to light this feeling on fire, I was totally incapable. I just sat there in the middle of the intersection with a book of matches, trying to exhale deeply, blowing the feeling out in front of me and lighting it, but time and time again the match just went out because apparently the feelings that people have are more powerful than fire!

Did you know that? I did not.

So, a few minutes later, even though I was tied up and brought in for questioning, I just kept thinking about how these people that were detaining me were missing the point. I explained and explained that I’ve seen on the television and also a couple of times growing up how a fire can destroy a huge swath of land, regardless of how long it has been there or how many rings the trees have.

They said that I was confused, but I disagree.

Here I am in possession, as we all often are, of two disparate items.

1. Transitory thoughts which could just as easily be disregarded as acknowledged. Invisible clouds of reconstituted ideas.
2. Fire. Powerful, powerful, fire.

Call me crazy, but if I can’t burn down my thoughts, then they must be built on a foundation more resilient than my home, than a forest, than a million years of fertile soil.

Well, eventually they took the leather strap off my jaw. I thanked them, but they didn’t realize that they had made a huge mistake.

In that moment I was able to unleash upon them a flurry of thoughts and not a match, not a lighter, not a flamethrower could extinguish what I had done.

Long story short, does anybody have any bail money?

Wedding Proposal First Draft


Love of my life.

From the moment I met you, I knew.

I knew that I could probably spend extensive periods of time with you without getting overly annoyed. I knew that we could talk and talk and you would tolerate me and that when you were saying things I didn’t agree with I could just tune you out and listen to songs I liked in my head.

I knew we could sit across the table from each other as we enjoyed our meals and neither of us would storm out and hail a cab or jump in front of a train or dive down an open manhole. I knew.

You are beautiful and intelligent and perfect.

Look, let’s be honest, you’re probably going to live longer than me, but I have a doctor in my family, so I think that makes us even as far as chances of surviving a terrible disease goes.

I guess what I’m saying is, at some point both of us are going to need a lot of help surviving, and you seem reasonably patient and quite frankly, so am I.

I love you.

Eventually, one of us is going to get some kind of horrible illness and need someone to take care of them and I figure that our odds of this are about the same, so if we decide to spend our lives together, we have pretty much fifty fifty odds of being the one carrying the terrible burden of the other one. I think that seems fair.

You’re all I ever wanted.

Looking deep into your eyes I know that we would probably create decent offspring, and there is a relatively good chance that neither of us would ruin them completely. You seem nice and not abundantly crazy. I’m a little bit crazy but not the kind that should totally affect things.

At the end of the day, I believe with all my heart that you and me, baby, would create a baby or two that would probably do well enough in the world to put us in a home where we wouldn’t be totally neglected and then eventually put decent flowers on our plots twice a year out of guilt.

Anyway, if you’re interested, I think you’d be the perfect person to slowly await the cold grip of death with.

Will you marry me?


John had no way of knowing that an acupuncture session would be the end of him. He thought that maybe he needed to be re-centered, re-balanced, re-calibrated.

He had no allergies that he knew of and no pre-existing medical conditions.

But as soon as that first needle went in and his entire body exploded, he knew that something was wrong.

Firstly, the acupuncturist screamed and then fainted. That is almost never a good sign. Another face came running through the door and dragged the acupuncturist away. John was splattered all over the room, nothing left of him but little strips of skin in every corner.

The door remained closed for a very long time before John saw his mother and father walk in. They looked at each other knowingly.

“I knew we should have told him,” said Mom.

“There was never really a good time,” said Dad. “Who knew he would go and do something like this?”

“Mom, Dad?” John’s flattened lips managed to eek out, hanging on the coat rack. “What happened?”

“Well, son,” Dad said. “There’s something you should probably know.”

“I’m so sorry, Johnny,” his Mom wailed. “We should have—”

“—Stop it, Linda.” Dad took a breath and continued. “See, you’re adopted.”

“I’m adopted?” John’s lips managed to whisper.

Mom continued to weep as Dad took a knee and placed his hand on some skin on the floor that looked a lot like it might have probably been John’s hand at some point.

“Yes. See? Your parents couldn’t take care of you.”

“Why not?” asked John, a tear forming next to his flattened eye under a decorative orchid on the countertop.

“Because your parents were balloons, John.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, John.”

John quietly conceded this point.

A nurse came into the room with a broom and a dustpan and started to clean up John.

John’s parents slowly backed out of the room, feeling pretty bad about what happened, but kind of okay about the fact that they didn’t have some weird balloon child to deal with anymore.


Forgiveness is overrated.

Closure is overrated.

I’m not saying they’re not important. I’m jus saying they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.

Here’s why:

Forgiveness and closure are the end of conflict, the end of progress.

Some things will end but good things last forever.

Even things that are over will continue to influence and compel you for life.

That’s how you know they were good.

Never get over anything.

Just envelope all the joy and all the pain and then yourself into a vessel containing more life than you did before.

Do that.