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After a couple hours of uncharastically reminiscing about my late youth (for a moment I could smell the fall apple orchard night in Amherst, feel the Santa Ynez Valley sun on my skin) I realized that I no longer spend much time thinking about the past. Is this a small victory in the continual elusive pursuit of living in the present? Is this a sign...
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pixel:
This. My life, constantly. That feeling of chaos is terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. The challenge is to learn grace and peace in the face of the storm, I suppose? Fuckit, I still have a ways to go. This peek into your inner workings is fascinating, I'm glad that there are others thinking such things. The human condition. Thank you. :) 
nanny:
The past is history, the furure a mistery, but present is a gift <3