Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, I am looking forward to hear you talking about your passions. I want you to tell me about what drives you, what makes you think, what puts you into that mighty state of mind called flow. I will be all ears and I promise, I will also tell you about my passions. You will hear me talking about theatre, literature, and the unclear boundaries between reality and fiction. I will tell you why I think that what we perceive as reality is just a narrative we make up in our quest to make sense of the world with plots, characters, heroes and villains in it.             Let me tell you a story.  The other day I lent a friend North Morgan’s ’Love Notes To Men Who Don’t Read’. My friend started to read the book, and he told me that he and the writer are now following each other on Instagram. We joked and laughed about it. Then I put pen to paper and jotted down a paragraph tricking my friend into believing that it is an excerpt from Morg...

Dear future hubster, do you know those very motivational and supposedly deep quotes saying "If you find that special someone, don't let them go", or something equally patronizing? Next time you see one, or somebody shoves one in your face, feel free to call their bluff. Because what they're saying is utter bullshit.  Newsflash, dear future hubster: you don't get to choose who gets away. You don't get to choose who sticks around. There's no such thing as not letting go. If they want to go, they will, and you may get to choose the amount of grace you handle it with, or the amount of disgrace you want to throw at them, but you have no say in the 'what', just the 'how'.  Best you can do is to keep being that cool and warm and bright and somber and simple and complex and serious and ridiculous person they chose to be with in the first place, and hope that they keep choosing to do so. Remember who you are, I guess.  

Dear future hubster, when you find me in a state of despair, when I feel like I'm alone in and against the world, when I feel that nothing is going right and I have no control over anything, please, please send me to a concert. And by "send" I mean, don't even come with me. Juts let me go, let the music wash over me, let me be alone in and with the crowd. Let me relate, let me relax, let me reassess. I'll come home tired because public transport, probably mildly annoyed at people who didn't behave as I think people at a concert should behave, but I'll have a different mindset. (Obviously, not all performances fit this purpose. A recent non-representative survey found that the lead singer wearing psychedelic Hawaii shirt and lots of fake gold, or sporting a full golden Elvis costume increases the healing powers.)

Dear future hubster, when I find myself in times of trouble, please remind me that I'm not alone. That technology, years, cheesecakes, luck and fairy dust somehow gave me a safety net that is always there to catch me if I fall. People who would not only hold my hair back when I puke, but also hold me when I cry. Virtually if they have to, but readily not matter what.

Dear future hubster, on the list of things that annoy me lots, please note people who walk slow, in the middle of the street, unable to keep a straight line.  ARRRRGH!