“It would require constant vigilance to not replace each person with my own fictional version of them.”
“… it began to dawn on me that not only was I now old enough to have a baby, I was almost too old to have a baby… So all my time was spent measuring time. While I listened to strangers and tried to patiently have faith in the unknown, I was also wondering how long it would take, and if any of it really mattered compared to having a baby. Word on the street was that it did not. Nothing mattered compared to having a baby.”
“As if I feared that the scope of what I could feel and imagine was being quietly limited by the world within a world, the internet. The things outside of the web were becoming further from me, and everything inside it seemed piercingly relevant. The blogs of strangers had to be read daily, and people nearby who had no web presence were becoming almost cartoonlike, as if they were missing a dimension… It’s not that my life before the internet was so wildly diverse — but there was only one world and it really did have everything in it. Domingo’s blog was one of the best I had ever read, but I had to drive to him to get it, and he had to tell it to me with his whole self, and there was no easy way to search for him. He could be found only accidentally.”
“I suppose this was one of the reasons people got married, to make a fiction that was tellable. It wasn’t just movies that couldn’t contain the full cast of characters — it was us. We had to winnow life down so we knew where to put our tenderness and attention; and that was a good, sweet thing. But together or alone, we were still embedded in a kaleidoscope, ruthlessly varied and continuous, until the end of the end. I knew I would forget this within the hour, and then remember, and then forget, and remember. Each time I remembered it would would be a tiny miracle, and forgetting was just as important — I had to believe in my own story.”
– Miranda July, It Chooses You
I just sat on my little futon in my little apartment and read this entire book, cover-to-cover. I can’t even remember the last time I did that. That last bit — and forgetting was just as important — made me cry.