“Whether at work or on a date, it seems safest to show vulnerability within a relationship that has some history—in which there is reciprocal sharing and the connection between two people grows in tandem with the disclosures. And yet, the truth is there’s nothing really ever safe about being vulnerable—and that’s precisely what allows for a special connection in the first place. When someone shares his hopes and anxieties on vellum paper, or admits to a mistake, or professes love to a friend at a café, that person is doing something risky, but the possibility of being hurt helps open the door to a more genuine, intimate interaction. Things might not work out in the person’s favor, but there’s still something rare and, indeed, beautiful about the gesture.
“Many of us feel like we’re barely keeping it together,” says Candy Chang, the artist who created A Monument for the Anxious and Hopeful with her partner, James A. Reeves. “But seeing some private corner of your psyche reflected in somebody else’s handwriting on a wall can be incredibly reassuring. It’s a reminder of the humanity in the faces around us.”
(via oaluz)
i had a thought today like man, my ancestors would probably not approve very much of me being such an extravagant glutton, but then i was like wtf are u kidding. those dumbasses didn’t live on a fuckin potato ass diet for no minimalism. they didn’t do what they did, whatever the fuck it was, for me NOT to fucking eat my bodyweight in sashimi!!! they would be fucking ecstatic to see me making the most of my opportunities for plenty. they would be fucking cheering me on. every lice-covered cossack and illiterate serf and three-toothed yak herder in my lineage is with me in this restaurant, and they are going absolutely apeshit watching me try to fit an entire samosa in my mouth









