I used to have trouble dealing with the "stick in the mud" attitude people develop as they age, but now I'm starting to realize that it's a matter of surviving when your being becomes more sensitive and frail.
"My comrades and my beloved, upon your way you shall meet men with hoofs; give them your wings. And men with horns; give them wreaths of laurel. And men with claws; give them petals for fingers. And men with forked tongues; give them honey words." --Kahlil Gibran, The Garden of The Prophet
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
Victor Joseph: You gotta look mean or people won't respect you. White people will run all over you if you don't look mean. You gotta look like a warrior! You gotta look like you just came back from killing a buffalo!
Thomas Builds-the-Fire: But our tribe never hunted buffalo - we were fishermen.
Victor Joseph: What! You want to look like you just came back from catching a fish? This ain't "Dances With Salmon" you know!