I was not on hand for the rebirth of My Little Pony five years ago; I barely remembered the first generation, and didn’t bother to keep track of subsequent changes, because hell, it was just a freaking toy, right?

Wrong-O, Buffalo Bob. (And could there possibly be a Buffalo Bob, somewhere on the fringe of Appleloosa?) I hesitate to characterize anything as “life-changing,” having gone through several changes in a life that’s already gone on far longer than I’d ever anticipated, but two things that happened to me in 2010, the lesser of which involved the roof over my head being battered beyond recognition — never you mind about the greater — left me sufficiently despondent to wonder if it was worth going on.

Said Twilight Sparkle in response, late in the second season:

I did everything I could think of to change the future. But it didn’t work. So maybe it’s not what I do … maybe it’s what I don’t do!

You can only plan so much; you can never know the outcome until everything comes out. Yogi Berra knew this; Bobby McFerrin knew this. I should have known this. But it took a befuddled pastel-colored pony to get through to me with it.

Life-changing? You better believe it. I know I do.

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