A person’s development is riddled with misguided expressions which occur as a result of ego. There are a number of causes which light fires under many types of people, but the causes are, in so many cases, secondary. Further down that road of development, a new self-defeating desire invades which serves to neutralize distractions in hopes of giving one serenity. Life is an unwinding and we finally put to bed one grand hope to make way for a more humble hope. Our existence, according to the fervor of youth, is a gradual decline which we foolishly hope to reverse; our existence, according to the complacency and embittering of age, is an anti-climatic autumn of beautiful and dormant “once upon a time’s.” It is, on the one hand, something very bothersome and melancholy; and it is on the other hand very peaceful. It’s as if the world is completely altered in the course of a few years. As Regina Spektor sings, “you’re young until you’re not.” Of course, there can be a condescension in claiming old age in comparison to the silly youth, and I do not intend that. What I’m suffering is the awakening to what was always the case, but what I supposed I was above. I am told that we all go through it, but that is not satisfying because, regardless of what I say, I want to make in impact. The more I try to claim about my own state of existence, the more I realize that I am not alone. For many, a solidarity with others could be comforting, for me, it is depressing. I enjoy having things in common with others, but my rabid insecurity demands recognition above and beyond! I wish to recognize community as an ornament, as a claim to my humility (a simultaneously paradoxical claim on my ego). Ahh, it’s truly pathetic, but even so, I can’t become unique. I merely blend in to the room of well dressed people furiously focused on their treadmills. We’re all the same, some dress themselves better than others, some understand themselves better than others, some understand their role better than others, some know what they want, most don’t.