Life at № 42
I read this the other day and it stuck in my mind. It’s from a speech by the author of The Black Swan, N.N. Taleb. Interesting notion. To go back to the beginning. 18 year old me was still sorting things out, so in my case we should ask 21 year old me. Twenty one was the age at which I pressed the red button. I came out, had my first boyfriend and moved to Spain (intent on never seeing anyone in my family again.) That was 1999. Here we are 18 years later and- well, here we are. Then me would approve of number 42, of Mike, and would have found the rest terribly predictable. Not very ambitious, drinks too much, thinks too much, plus ça change. I don’t think there’s an ultimate definition of success. It’s just getting what we want at a particular time, isn’t it? Over the years I’ve discovered that what I want most is simply to not be bothered. That and being surrounded by beautiful things.
Here’s Catherine Tate who also doesn’t want to be bothered: