stereotypes

Perhaps the consolation prize as time passes is that stereotypes lose their grip.

Not that they are absolved or dissolved (they still natter with the self-importance of school children gathered at the ice cream truck), but a gentle skepticism comes with them as time passes.

Yes, the swath of Velcro that once held personality in place is still effective, but the hooks and eyes have lost their credibility. There are stereotypes aplenty, but is that a reason to accede to their swagger?

Who does not, invariably, boil things down to a three-by-five card that fits in the file box of social interaction and importance and conviviality and seriousness?

As time passes, how I wish I could muster the once-bright energy that made for lively discourse and connection and coherence. To don the mantle of ...

Some brisk and unencumbered Brit ...
Some Japanese person whose face is smooth and serene as a katana blade, oozing a thousand-year history that is kept openly secret...
Some banner in the social breeze, mustering others to good-better-best...
Some oration about connections that were already 'connected'... 

Stereotypes. There are nothing but stereotypes in the mind ... hook-and-eye, hook-and-eye, hook-and-eye.

It is sometimes lonely, getting old -- lonely and tiresome in its self-referential swim. It is as if the skin no longer fit and when, from time to time, welcome visitors appeared, their taut-skinned stereotypes were too tiresome to endure for long. It's not that stereotypes are somehow wrong or in need of some corrective counsel -- though sometimes they do -- it's just that these long and cohesive companions ... what? ... well, it is as if the skin no longer fits and the tailor who might take a tuck here and add a pleat there were out to lunch.

This morning, against a grey and misty sky whose light was evenly 'connected,' a single swallow swooped and soared and then was gone behind the rooftops.

And for a moment ... the skin fit.