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Men don’t have to pretend to be good, I thought. In fact, they’re supposed to be a little brutal.
“It’s like you’ve spent your whole life putting one foot in front of the other, knowing the ground would always be there to meet you, and then suddenly, one day…it isn’t. The bottom has dropped out. The unbelievable happens and you just…fall.”
“I’m saying that if you can’t trust the world to behave how you thought it would—if the impossible becomes possible—then you’re open to believing so much more,” says Raina.
“What’s the year, Ruby?” “Who’s the president, Ruby?” “Who cares?” says Ruby, sliding farther down in her seat. “It’s always the same shit.”
“Bet the fMRI data on Unmusical Chairs is really something,” says Ruby. “Real amygdala lighter.”
Like a Poop emoji, but not even with cute eyes, which I guess is just like shit.
“I mean, if you lose your dignity while winning the game, have you really won?”
What if, for some of us, moving on involves finding good in the bad? Or being thankful for how we changed? That doesn’t mean we wished it to happen.”
“You follow the template you’re given,” I said. “You become who you’re told you are.” “Yeah, but now I have this problem,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t know how to separate who I’m supposed to be from who I really am.”
Why was my father always saying things? Why was I listening?
“You don’t have to like it just because you chose it,” says Bernice.
You can’t change the past, but it’s infinitely reframeable. You can tell the same story over and over a hundred different ways, and every version is a little right and every version is a little wrong.
