Every now and again I panic that I’m getting less connected and less relevant, and I fear I’ll just be a confused old man soon.
Then I remember that I’ve never understood a goddamn thing about popularity. And everything’s okay again.
Nobody’s ever liked my music or my clothes or pretty much anything else that kids link to identity. And yet I still like what I like. Go figure. Turns out getting old is just another number I don’t have time to give a shit about.