Novelty constructs a mirage that looks like appeal. Of course, time reveals what’s real in the end; repeated exposure has a similar effect in a hurry. The Serengeti teaches you this, this being the deceptive resemblance between novelty and goodness, this being one of life’s greatest curses.  That is to say, in the desert, whatever is present remains forever less alluring than whatever isn’t — call it the mirage of novelty. The first zebra fell to the giraffe, then an elephant at distance to a lion up close. Birds flitted in and out of interest. A fictional elephant took the spotlight of desire, once that became reality, a fictional hippo arose.  This mirage spreads its arms wide, holding true for anything of imagination.  ~ The first ever vulnerable conversation I had in my lifetime held a special grip on me. I thought about my past — for the first time — and I spoke about it. My friends listened, and when it came their turn, they did the same. Everything was valid, permissible. I didn’t always seek them out, but I was always glad when these conversations arose. As I got older, they seemed to arrive more often.  In a move I attributed to the mirage’s disappearance, I tired of these conversations quickly. I came to dislike the verbiage and priors that held open gates of acceptance; the seriousness that was meant to present respectful attentiveness. Poorly masked inauthenticity disgusted me — still does — and so I tired of what I saw as teenagers masquerading as trained therapists or mature conversationalists when I had just seen them say “slay” and “hello??”, “rizz” and other gen-z constructions that I’ve been guilty of.  For a while, I was in a purgatory on heavy conversations. I didn't dislike them, I didn't leave when they happened, but I rarely spoke during them, often groaning inwardly, rerouting to avoid them on occasion. I figured out other ways groups could bond, ways that were a lot easier. I played dumb and looked for inexpensive laughs; I tried to stay positive and keep a level of group comfort, because any discomfort warranted avoidance.  All things considered, the safari was lucky. We saw lions in the midst of breakfast, an elephant grazed next to our car, and on our last day, we saw six rhinos. It’s here I recognised not just the power of novelty, but the fact that I may have given the mirage too much credit. Some things are remarkable, the first and the millionth time, full stop.