On farting while thinking about Austrian cats that are dead and alive at the same: A birthday post

Dear Loinspawn,

Congratulations are in order. You’ve managed to survive a whole 365 days. Well done. I’m not sure why you’re getting all the presents though, we’ve been doing all the work.

The day you arrived, it felt like I fell out of an airplane. Without a parachute. No, it’s more surreal – it felt like the airplane disintegrated and I stayed behind, feet flailing in the air trying to find purchase in the unknown. I haven’t loved every minute of being a parent. And people who say they do are fucking liars.

But I’ve loved you every minute since you were born. How could I not? You are a goddamn beautiful, delightful terror.

I prefer the idea of a name day to a birthday. I like the thought of celebrating the person rather than the fact that they were pushed out of a vagina. There is power in a name. It’s yours, and it contains all the thoughts everyone has ever had of you.

So, happy Name day, Wolf. I hope your name brings you joy. I hope when people say it, they think happy thoughts, kind thoughts, loving thoughts.

Wolves are strong. And intelligent. They don’t mind leading solitary lives, and yet they often mate for life, their offspring forming a pack. We are pack now. We run together. But one day you must find your own way, so I thought I should offer some advice below. Your mother says I’m telling you to be like me. She’s not wrong. So listen to her when she starts telling you to get your head out of your ass and start working.

Why am I writing this to you now? I’m not sure. You still think flowers taste great. And that you can have a whole conversation by repeating the syllable ‘ta’. But one day you’ll be older. And I might or might no still be there. And these are the thoughts I would want to share with you:

Question everything. Even if it makes people angry. Especially if it makes them angry. Question us. Question yourself. Question life.
Take pictures to feel alive. Of things. Anything. But not yourself.
Stop taking pictures and just be. Be.
Be anything you want.
And want to be all you can be.
Stop wearing a watch. Time passes without it.
Pass the time by looking at trees. Look closer. Look at the ants, the leaves, the things we see, but don’t see. You see?
Make friends with a dog. Look into his eyes. Look deeper. You see that? Love. Real love.
Fall in love. Fall out of love. But learn about love. There’s no book for it.
Read. Read comics and old Reader’s Digests and books about birds and novels about dragons and stories about people who have led a tougher life less ordinary than you. Read the newspaper. Read this. Read people. Read between the lines. Read.
Don’t read self-help books. Help yourself.
#Stop #Hashtagging #Your #Life You’re not missing out. Except on who you are right now.
Even if what you are is alone. Unplug your phone. Be alone. And be okay. Then you’ll stop looking for answers in the crowd.
Drink beer and daydream. About daydreaming. Make movies in your head. Then go to bed.
On the way, sing. Even if don’t know the words. Make up your own. Make the song your own.
Horde music; a tune for every thought.
Think happy thoughts. And sad ones. And angry ones.
Think profound thoughts about the stars. About clusters within superclusters within galaxies within universes. About parallel universes and black holes where Austrian cats are dead and alive at the same time. Then laugh at your own farts. They’re funny.
Walk. Walk everywhere. Walk far. Walk wide. Walk in someone else’s shoes. Walk barefoot. Soon the stones will stop hurting.
It’s okay to hurt. But don’t let your hurt define you.
You don’t have to hurt to cry. Cry over animals without homes and homes without animals and movies without happy endings, and spilt milk and missing someone you’ve never met and climate change and war, and religion that causes war and traffic and things that make you feel shit. But cry.
It will stop you drowning in unspilt tears.
Love your parents. We won’t be around forever.
And never linger upon things that end…
The End.

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