What We Get Wrong About Adulthood
The Trap of Time
Sometimes, the smallest events unexpectedly open our eyes, making us see the world differently and wish we had acted differently.
When I was ten years old, I didn’t have this feeling of drift. Everything seemed clear, and life felt certain.
I was fascinated by science and everything related to it.
I loved nature and animals. We had cats and dogs at home, and at one point, I had nine large, tropical fish tanks in my bedroom.
I would sit there for hours, observing everything in these tiny, flourishing ecosystems — the vivid colors, the darting movements, the courtship and mating rituals, and other behaviors. Tiny worlds I hadn’t exactly created but which I curated and was responsible for looking after. A series of infinitely complex stories played out right before my eyes.
Every fish had a name and an invented back story. Zeus — the a-typical alpha male discus fish — seeking to impose his will on the others in “his” fish tank. Aphrodite, timid and anxiously hiding, except for feeding time when hunger-fueled bravery motivated her to come out from her hiding place behind some rocks.
The lives of these fish — their unfolding adventures — mesmerized me and were a source of endless fascination.
