I left a time capsule in the closet of my first home, a shoe box filled with things that I loved as a six-year-old and notes of encouragement for the person I would become years, and years, and years down the line. I watched Bo Burnham’s new movie Eighth Grade last night, which hesitates around the idea of time capsules — but, even more specifically, around the idea that there is some better, cooler you, waiting around the bend of a few years. The idea that we are just a few years away from shedding this crippling loneliness, or crippling social anxiety, or crippling anxiety — whatever it might be; this pain is temporary. My brother started his freshman year of college a few days ago. He’s doing great, he really is.