My Morning Email

This came from my mother:

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, and childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. Weare made of layers, cells, constellations.
-Anais Nin


And this came from my brother:


(Oh it was a fun cab ride)