Each day I wondered what would happen next. What happens when you stop wanting, when you are happy. I supposed I would go on being happy forever. I knew I would not mess things up by growing bored. I had done that once before.
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Miranda July
Miranda July (born Miranda Jennifer Grossinger; February 15, 1974) is an American film director, screenwriter, actor, author and artist. Her body of work includes film, fiction, monologue, digital media presentations, and live performance art. She wrote, directed and starred in the films Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) and The Future (2011). Her most recent book - and debut novel - The First Bad Man, was published in January 2015. July was a recipient of a Creative Capital Emerging Fields Award. 2Background July was born in Barre, Vermont, in 1974, the daughter of Lindy Hough and Richard Grossinger. Her parents, who taught at Goddard College at the time, are both writers. In 1974 they founded North Atlantic Books, a publisher of alternative health, martial arts, and spiritual titles. Her father was Jewish, and her mother was Protestant. July was encouraged to work on her short fiction by author and friend of a friend Rick Mood
What a terrible mistake to let go of something wonderful for something real.
Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed.
She looked as betrayed as the most betrayed person in Shakespeare.
Finally, in a low whisper, he said, ‘I think I might be a terrible person.’ For a split second I believed him - I thought he was about to confess a crime, maybe a murder. Then I realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a…
Given the right psychological conditions, a person could fall in love with anyone.
What was the lifespan of these improbable loves? An hour. A week. A few months at best. The end was a natural thing, like the seasons, like getting older, fruit turning. That was the saddest part—there was no one to blame and no way to reverse
If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have?
It would require constant vigilance to not replace each person with my own fictional version of them.
I knew the beginning and the end – I just had to dream up a convincing middle.
Most of life is offline, and I think it always will be; eating and aching and sleeping and loving happen in the body. But it's not impossible to imagine losing my appetite for those things; they aren't always easy, and they take so much time. In twenty years I'd be interviewing air and water and…
It was an act of devotion. A little like writing or loving someone — it doesn’t always feel worthwhile, but not giving up somehow creates unexpected meaning over time.
All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
It would require constant vigilance to not replace each person with my own fictional version of them.
I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.
Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people.…
I wanted to look at everything through her eyes. I do this before I bring someone new into my life; I try to get a sense of who I am so that I can make it easier for them to know me.
I could not make a move without making love.
She bludgeoned me with a look of such limitless compassion that I immediately began to cry.