I recently read some letters by the late, great playwright Lorraine Hansberry on display at the Brooklyn Museum. She wrote lists of things she loved, hated, and regretted on her birthdays.
There was no rhyme or reason for which years they picked, but I found her writing so illuminating. At the age of 30, she liked "the insistent penetration of autumn sunlight" and also:
the fact that I have changed
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