Verisimilitude. The appearance of being real.
The June holidays lack verisimilitude. They are like a passing dream forgotten upon waking. Adaptation, otherwise, is an attributing factor to this twisting of experience in the sun-basked realm of life.
The past is always a dream, maybe. Especially when you never experienced it. Intellectually, I know that events have shaken the planet we live on; the World Wars, Vietnam, famines in Africa and elsewhere (which are blown up and exaggerated, according to some analyses); emotionally, I cannot help but view them as events in a story, a fictional tale.
The sphere, the confines, of the mundane pen me in and force me to adopt disbelief at the most primal level.
The present, as Hazel would say, is what is important. The Here and Now. And the past is a dream. The future is ours to weave. But not ours to decide on a grand level, definitively. Or not.
Learning to learn. A chicken-and-egg problem. When viewed in a certain way.