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Yesterday, I went to a new cafe and wrote:

Say your life depreciates at 50% per year, compounded continuously. By your first year, you’ve already live most of your life. Your second year is virtually insignificant compared to the first — but so much weightier than the third. What you do now doesn’t count much compared to what you’ve done; but it’s so much more important than anything you will ever do.

I tried to edit this — expand it with figures, add context, temper the bleakness — but it was all no good. At that cafe over that turkey sandwich, I wrote it. No way to get that back, to turn it in for something more to my liking.


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