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February 28, 2015
Five years ago I was a different person. I've been revisiting her for the last two hours. She seemed to have a clever, flexible, creative mind. She was better. A better writer, more insightful, had more wisdom about what was important. Her 100 words were worthwhile. My 100 words read like a pathetic diary. Here's the unsettling wisdom I've learned looking through photo albums: Even though the present photos look god awful and wrinkly old, in five years, I'll see how wonderfully youthful--comparatively--I look now. Scary that the mind, like beauty, is on a tragic trajectory spiraling downward.