Time is short. One day we blink our eyes into existence, into unknown and struggle to grow and comprehend all that comes at us. Then we blink again, and in that obscenely brief period of – time – we struggle our eyes open once more and grasp for breath, and then we’re gone. A handful achieve great things in their moment, a few make noted contributions to humanity; there are some that achieve great notoriety and fame. Most of us don’t.
We struggle through our formative years, to comprehend what we’re looking at, to understand what’s going on within our craniums and wonder why so many others seem completely unaware, so lacking understanding, as we lack awareness an understanding of their experience. We struggle to gain an edge – in school, socially, vocationally. All of it is momentary, and of little consequence – forgotten, just as we will be.
But what’s remarkable, whatever it is we are that fires throughout an incomprehensibly complicated biological circuitry, in spite of everything we observe and know – most of us still get up every morning and seek out relevance and meaning, value in our experience. Most stumble on. Some don’t.
Wealth and fame and power are hung over our consciousness as most worthy, but the billions that have none still do the same: Find value in artistic capability, find motivation from exploration and explanation of the observed – from conversation, a great meal, a smile; physical sensation. Sometimes, just randomly.
It was only yesterday, I was a frail and insignificant child sitting on a curb, approached by a group of teenagers, one of which said something to me repeatedly, that I couldn’t understand. He circled away angrily, and one of the others explained, he was asking why all my friends ran away when they approached. I looked back at their absence and laughed, and said, “I don’t know.” The first came back and might have said something, and he tried to shake my hand, but I had no idea what he was doing: All of us had a laugh, though probably for different reasons.
For the second week in a row, on a Saturday at 7:01pm, I found myself sitting at our dining room table with my favorite people in the world: My wife, and my own children. For the second Saturday in a row, we were having tacos for dinner, that could have been better, and late — because time keeps moving quickly.