Coco Mellors

Most people go through life never knowing what it’s like to have a calling, one that asks you to sacrifice the pleasure of the moment for the potential of a dream that may not be realized for years, if at all.

“When was the last time you were with a straight man, I’m talking any straight man, and he said something more interesting than what you were already thinking?”

Fun was fine when you were young, but as you got older it was kindness that counted, kindness that showed up.

Why did she feel the need to make everyone, even this waiter, like her? What a thing it must be to be indifferent to indifference.

Everyone I know is either more successful or more interesting than me.

Everyone I know is either more successful or more interesting than me. This realization is nothing new. In fact, it used to feel like everyone I didn’t know was more successful and interesting than me too.

I am dancing slowly, arms outstretched, to Wham’s “Last Christmas.” This is my favorite song of all time. It is full of pathos and insight. Perhaps the real tragedy here is not that George Michael’s heart was given away, but that this beautiful song is relegated to only one month of the year, when its message of unrequited love leading to a deepening resolve to choose more deserving partners is undeniably relevant year-round.

That was the real inheritance from her mother, she thought, more defining than any facial feature or mannerism. They both wanted to disappear.

“What do you do not to feel sad?” I ask.

“I let myself feel sad.”

They did not yet know what he did. That you could be gifted, hardworking, tenacious, even touched by a little bit of luck, and still not succeed, or if you did, not have it last. That never to experience achievements commensurate to your talent, never to receive adequate payment for your efforts, was a terrible, demoralizing thing.