Sunday afternoon wisdom collection

It's Sunday. I never post on Sundays, but damn, it's a weird one.

Last night was fun and Friday afternoon was wild. Now the week is starting, and I'm here just thinking about all the things I've learned in all these years.

Obviously not, like, useful things. Who has time for that?

I want to be the wise old guy who answers every question with an aphorism and a smile and leaves everyone even more confused. And hey, I'm kinda halfway there.

I mean useless wisdom like:

—Be careful with the sins you commit, because along the way you will find that some of the worst ones, you can't repent of.

This one is weirdly religious, but look at it in the wider sense. Repentance is part of the process of redemption, even if that redemption comes from your horse genital stimulator ("promise never to cheat again") or AA ("I will accept what I can't change in my own schedule, okay? Okay.").

Repentance is important for healing. Understanding that something was a mistake, regretting it, and growing from it is a fundamental part of human development, right from the moment we were babies and furiously bit our own hand because we were angry.

Well.

Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth. I can go through that list so fast on a good day that it blurs.

Or on a bad one?

I can be proudly wrathful, lustfully slothful, greedily gluttonous, or whatever the hell the grammatical forms of sin are.

Those are considered the worst of the worst, but there must be a personal list of deadly sins, and I'm sure I'm also damned by that one.

Why?

I kissed a woman I shouldn't have and never kissed one I really should have. And I still imagine her taste.

I called back a horrible person and completely forgot about a woman who was an absolute angel.

I have been shallow, selfish, proud.

The three deepest conversations of my life, the ones that would have changed everything? They never happened. I have serious issues opening up.

I made a mortal enemy out of someone who should have been a close friend because of my stupid humor, and I considered a sworn enemy a friend right until the fire started.

It's true that you tend to regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did.

Unless, of course, you've considered murder.

In which case, be selfish: don't kill the fucker. He gets to sleep and you go to jail.

It's not worth it.

—In almost every situation, exiting early is better than exiting late. But if you decide to stay and fight, never blame the others for your choice.

The reasons are endless: a beautiful smile, a good idea, a friendship, stubbornness, good old boredom, more stubbornness.

We all have that sensation in our minds that says, "Maybe our time would be better used watching some paint dry, or the grass grow, or something." And sometimes it comes from just being tired, or from things being difficult.

The important part is this: people who exit early are just as fucked as people who exit late, but people who exit late end up eating a greater share of shit.

It is what it is.

I exit late.

I can go all night. My patience is infinite, and I am aware. Very aware.

So, if you tend to exit late, just like me, if you're the person who stays to turn off the light, put out the smoldering pieces, and help the wounded, learn to live with your decisions.

And this one comes, with a lot of love, from my memory of someone who stayed a couple of months too long to help me put out my own fire, ended up getting hurt, and hated me for it.

We are imperfect, sad, broken creatures, from the best to the worst, and there is merit in holding the line from time to time.

But when you do, never blame either the circumstances or the others.

It's your choice.

You can walk away today.

If you stay, recognize your reasons and praise your own stupidity when required.

You'll do it again. I'll do it again. I'm a fucking imbecile.

—Love is not a reason. Love can't be a reason.

This one goes completely against the last one, but bear with me.

Heh. Bear.

I'll never get over that saying.

Love should always go before the "but" because, while love is a powerful and intense emotion, it's also kinda irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

If the only reason that remains is love, it's time to pack your bags, and I'm not saying this lightly.

Let's avoid the relationship stories and think instead about projects.

We all have projects, and we pour our lives into them.

That app that helps people who want to be in a brawl but don't have anger management issues come together will take off any day now, right?

You've spent three years on it. You love it. You know every stupid line of code. You remember the night you fixed that impossible bug at four in the morning. You have a logo. You bought the domain. Your mother thinks it's wonderful because your mother has absolutely no idea what it does.

And she would be horrified if she found out.

But nobody uses it.

Love is not a business model.

And loving something doesn't make it good, viable, healthy, useful, or worth another five years of your life.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is bury it properly, remember the good parts, steal whatever useful pieces are left, and go build something else.

The same applies to almost everything.

Which is extremely inconvenient.

Or am I the only sentimental idiot who still owns his first car?

In my case, mine runs perfectly. But still, it's a piece of technology that's 33 years old, and from time to time it makes damn sure I remember that.

I still fix the silly thing because I love it, because it's useful when I need it, and because I'm not someone who needs a car very often.

But the day—the minute, the second—I actually need a reliable vehicle, I'll have to buy another one.

And probably get rid of my beloved.

Because eventually "I love it, but..." stops being a defense and starts being the whole argument.

And when the part after the "but" becomes longer than the part before it, maybe it's time to get out.

Keep a couple of pictures.

Keep the good memories.

Love it.

And leave.

But if you pay more than the car is worth in parts just to keep it running, you're the only one to blame.

—Bad decisions make great stories sometimes. Still, avoid them.

We've all heard it: no good story starts with "I'll have a glass of water."

And the chaotic stories we gain from our exploits are incredibly fun to tell.

But as someone who has more than his fair share of those, I can tell you this: sometimes it's better to slam on the brakes and avoid some of the great stories that leave you with scars.

There are stories that become funny after a couple of years.

There are stories that become funny after ten.

And there are stories that never become funny at all.

So yes, go out. Be stupid sometimes. Get lost. Kiss the wrong person. Miss a flight. Say yes to something questionable. Wake up somewhere and briefly wonder what country you're in.

But don't confuse having a life with constantly surviving one.

A scar can become a story.

That doesn't mean you needed the scar.

—Never let them see you bleed.

This one is key. And it apparently comes from James Bond. How the fuck do I know the quote if I've never seen a James Bond movie? No idea, but it's probably the single greatest piece of advice in the world.

If someone is actively trying to hurt you, admitting exactly where they succeeded is giving them a fucking progress report.

Don't.

Your soul is coming apart? Smile.

They hit a nerve? Shrug.

They wanted a reaction? Make them wonder whether they even managed to reach you.

You can bleed later.

That's the important distinction.

"Never let them see you bleed" doesn't mean "never bleed." That's impossible. And pretending otherwise is how you end up becoming one of those emotionally constipated old men who dies at 94 having told his children he loved them twice, both times under anesthesia.

Bleed somewhere safe.

Tell your friends. Tell the person you trust. Cry in the shower. Scream into a pillow. Write twelve pages of increasingly deranged prose and publish it on a Sunday morning.

Whatever works.

Just don't hand the person who stabbed you a ruler so they can measure how deep the knife went.

Vulnerability is valuable.

But not everybody has earned access to it.

In my opinion, there's no higher tier of love and trust.

—Nobody is worth more to others than they are worth to themselves.

This one stings for everyone.

But whether you're the subject or you're getting to this idea through good intentions, this is a key concept.

Nobody can save you from a situation you allow yourself to remain in. You can't save someone from what they allow to be done to them.

If you tend to overcommit and want to help, like me, it's time to remember this.

Also, trauma is definitely not an RPG.

The game, not the bomb.

It doesn't give you EXP points that you get to trade for personal growth. It doesn't magically turn pain into wisdom.

Sometimes suffering teaches you something.

Sometimes it just makes you smaller and more vulnerable.

And nobody can learn the lesson for someone else.

—You're gonna die someday, so don't take yourself—or anything else—too seriously.

Really, want to make every mistake in this list?

Go. Do it.

In the end, we all die. Everything we do matters very little, and probably for a lot less time than we'd like to imagine.

So whatever you do, make sure to enjoy yourself.

Love too much. Stay too long. Leave too early. Say the wrong thing. Say the right thing six years too late. Build stupid things. Keep old cars alive. Trust people who don't deserve it. Occasionally trust someone who absolutely does.

Fuck it up.

Learn something, if possible.

Laugh about it, if possible.

Nobody knows the date, but it's coming.

Now, go out there.

Do something bad today.

Peace.