Time To Move On


2. Day Two: Her Own Protector

What goes in must come out...

I flipped through some social conservative's book on What's Wrong With Millennials in Barnes & Noble once a few months ago. I wasn't serious, but one line caught my eye and stuck in my head. He claimed that millennials spend 60% of their waking hours "consuming media." I don't know what this is based on or what point it emphasizes, but it FELT like a judgement upon us, or something. Like "media" was synonymous with "Flappy Bird and Instagrammed pictures of their food." If he wants to judge us about our media consumption, he should consider that any of that 60% could be textbooks, novels, music on the radio, fucking Fox News for all he knows... Anyway, my point isn't to bitch about "old fogeys these days," though I could go for days on that particular subject. My point is that whenever I binge-watch a show or spend hours in bed with a book, I'm thinking in the back of my head: you're consuming media and it's rotting your brain! Part of this is my anxious paranoia, but I think a fair amount is also about my voice as a writer, and worry that too much passivity for too long will erode it. Passivity? Passivism? Passtication?

Anyway, I've just been thinking about the stars lately. They seem different in the winter. Benignly twinkling diamonds in the sky in August, icy shards of celestial precipitation in November. I like them better this time of year, when you have to look through the fog of your own breath to see them. I like their duality, the fact that they make you want to lean your head on your lover's shoulder, and melt into your own solitude. And I like the idea that the second closest star to us is something like two light years away. From the sun, light carries for eight minutes before it reaches us, and days often feel that way, harsh and immediate, all in lurid detail. At night, our brightest star is still back in 2015. Not a good year, admittedly (personally), but I think Glenn Frey understood when he wrote his lyrics about wanting to sleep in the desert under a billion of them. The moon has its perks, like the mythical connection with feminine energy and occult activity, but the stars are the really magical ones. People say we're looking at the same moon that Cleopatra and Shakespeare and Anne Frank saw, but back then nobody had walked on it. We are, however, literally seeing our past beaming towards us in tiny pinnpricks each time we look at the stars, and that is pretty magical.

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