Before realizing a few years ago how closed-minded I had been, vulnerability was nothing but new-aged nonsense to me. It was more of a bohemian hallmark than a real concept — I mean, you don’t risk exposure when you’re isolated, right?

Eventually I would realized my errors, but only after I met her and started thinking for myself. It turns out that vulnerability is one of the deepest human requirements. Without it we may as well be thoughtless rocks or robots.

In a way, we admit our mortality by opening ourselves up. When we expose our self without filters or motives, we are acknowledging that we will change. It is a hypocritical testament, an illogical statement that who you are and what you think now will eventually be gone when you die.

I only know this because of all the years I spent creating diversions to avoid my self. At least nowadays it’s easy for me to spot fake people — they are the busy ones. I avoid them.

Instead, I’d rather have a beer and talk about getting old, or about living before that happens.