What is and what never should be

I think it’s funny that people write about their lives in third person. Funny that they write about their lives at all really. They comment on infinitesimal details of one day that comprise 1/27,375th of a lifetime (on a scale of 75 years.) They categorize themselves, their interests, their lives as if they‘re some controlled constant in an experiment. I myself fall into such a category, as I assume most do.

Doesn’t it strike you as odd that we personify our lives, give them, life, for lack of a more fitting word? We characterize them, lump them into modes and moods and manners, but jeezy creezy, how can you describe/categorize/define a life that is, at most, 1/3 complete (given the standard span of life.) We say “it’s the story of my life” as if our lives are over, finite, and there is nothing we can do to change them. But they change every day, in the smallest of ways, ways not visible to the naked eye. I’m guilty of summarizing my life, of making premature statements on the basis of a few years. When I’m 80 I’ll have more justification or basis of comparison for using the phrase “my life.” But for now, I apologize.

It reminds me of high school for some reason. Senior year, organizing your portfolio for grading. Perusing through works written over the past four years, shuddering in disgust at your writing style, poor vocab, and plethora of creative writing devoid of any creativity. If a person can change one aspect of their academic persona in a matter of four years, how much does the individual change in a lifetime? And how much of that change is by way of outside forces rather than some self-aggrandizing plot to mature intellectually? If on my deathbed I reread this post, how stupid will I think I was to go on and on about the little things that perk my interest on a daily basis? Will I again shudder in disgust at the things that were?