Typical Sense

I've spent thirty-seven years trying to span the gulf between me and my oldest brother James. There's seven years between us chronologically, and six inches vertically, but what seems like a universe in the philosophical sense. We've never agreed on much, and though it's tempting to use differing opinions to define that quality of a person, I genuinely think that my brother is a good guy. It's also fascinating to admit that I've never been more angry more times at any other person. Growing up, we were at each other's throats both verbally and physically. I was always the butt of some particular joke, and spent way too much effort returning the favour. If there was a knife I could stick in with words, I surely would. But like everyone in adulthood, there have been times that didn't treat him so kind — and it made me less interested in continuing my side of the battle. We'll never quite be friends in the typical sense, all our interests, beliefs, desires, and dreams so divergent. There's a space somewhere that sees life less as a set of endless differences, and only cares where closeness lies.

June 23, 2025
Nictaux West, Nova Scotia

Year 18, Day 6434 of my daily journal.