I’ve been thinking a lot about matadors lately. Last week I read an article by a former matador whose father had died in a bullfight years before. He talked about the literal and figurative dances between man and bull, man and death. He said the closer the bull got to him, the closer he felt to death and subsequently, the more he felt he was alive. While bullfighting itself seems like an inhumane and bizarre practice to me, I can’t stop seeing the romance of it (minus the dead bull at the end). Another matador was on 60 Minutes tonight and kept me thinking about it. I can’t imagine being a man in your early forties watching something like this. Do you put down the papers you’re grading, look at the wood paneled living room you’re in and say, “What the hell am I doing?”

I keep swinging between two things: yes, a normal life is preferrable; no, a life of daring is what I need.

Music video of the month for me:

Found my old Polaroid camera:

All the reasons I want tomorrow to turn out well:

*images from Getty, smushed up and text by me.