I'm always amazed by the recognition that we are made of star stuff.
And I'm likewise mystified by the fact that our cells are constantly dying and being replaced, and that with some exceptions, I am just a clone of the girl I was seven years ago, who is a clone of who I was when I was in college, who is a clone of who I was in high school, who is a clone of who I was when I puked on that elephant, all the way back to the original me.
I mean... WHOA.
That means I'm two deviations away from the girl I was when I was a teen. It's such a formative time then, when we pick and choose who we want to be, how we want to self-identify, how we will rebel and how we will conform. In most ways, I am not that girl. We don't even have the same name.
And yet, when I go to a thrift store, I can't help but feel that she and I have a lot in common. That picture shows $19 worth of things I would have bought when I was 18, no questions asked. I probably wouldn't have had the guts to wear them back then, but I'm glad I do now.
It kind of blows me away that the substances of which those purchases are made-- they're made of stars, too. I'm made of stars, and my new velvet blazer with the satin ribbon tie is made of stars, and my children are made of stars, and my book is made of stars, and you guys are made of stars. All those little chunks of matter have been around forever, just waiting to become what they are
Here's to constant amazement and further permutations of the stars.