A friend of mine who's in his very early thirties talks, quite frequently, about how he'd like to end his life at forty. About how he thinks that existence is torture and that bringing someone into existence is a violation of their consent.

I think about how I'd have never discovered so many important things about myself if I'd only lived to forty. I'd never have met some of my best friends. I'd never have gotten into my favorite hobby. I'd never have seen one of my favorite movies. I'd never have transitioned and found out how much genuine joy there is in it.

But I cannot convince him. He's dead set on it. He flies into a rage when he sees pregnant people.

I'm glad to step up when someone is hurting. As the song lyric goes, love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night.

I just wish I was actually any good at it.