“Ha-ha!’ the fox laughed. ‘*Just* stories, you say, as if stories mean nothing? Stories are the stuff that sticks the world together. Stories are the mud from which we’re all made. The power to imagine stories is the power to remake the world as we dream it.” ― C. Alexander London, The Wild Ones, Moonlight Brigade
Text version, in case you don’t do images:
The Manifesto of Manifestos
One: Categorize everything with price per pound and country of origin …. Sorry, wrong manifest.
Two: Synergize outside the box but in your wheelhouse to grab all low-hanging fruit and stretch your goals.
Three: Use variable fonts so the big words stick out.
Four: Don’t believe every stupid thought in your head and believe in your dreams and in people and in fairies.
Five: Manifestos should be short and sweet with under 5 points.
Six: Live like you are going to die, but probably not tomorrow, because you are likely one standard deviation away from 72.4 years old.
Seven: That does not prevent you from getting hit by a bus tomorrow.
Eight: The same statistic applies to success, financial security, marriage lengths, and nose lengths. You are often dead center but can’t know if you’re on the lip of the bell about to fall off.
Nine: Worry about what will probably kill you: cars, the sun, excess salt, sugar, saturated fat, viruses, bacteria, accident, injury, cell mutation, not moving, not sleeping, and not washing your hands.
Ten… Maybe, I’ve lost count: Don’t worry about the things that rarely kill anyone: planes, sunscreen, fiber, preventative medicine, criticism, dating, public speaking, performance reviews, HOAs, quitting, joining, starting, finishing, and the comment section.
Eleven… Probably: The stress of getting those two wrong will probably be what actually kills you.
Twelve? Don’t miss the stars, the strawberries, the hugs, or the leaves, but keep your nose on the prize and your eye on the grindstone. Don’t touch it, because ow, but keep your eye on it.
Definitely Thirteen: We are all the same and we are all different. Other people are not your business and the world is your neighbor.
14: But since you don’t speak to your actual neighbors… never mind.
Fifteen: You are perfect, imperfect, and perfectly imperfect, and imperfectly perfect. Is that a word?
Sixteen: Oh, dear.
Seventeen: End on an odd bullet to make things feel incomplete.
The End I mean Eighteen: Life is short and endless. Enjoy the shit out of it.