It's hard to believe today marks the START of the second of the fifty-two weeks that comprise this shiny and shining New Year we welcomed perhaps raucously (and perhaps too raucously) last Saturday night. I blinked, I guess, and missed most if not all of the first one.
The premise of the promise behind all the excitement at the time was that we would be and do that which we had not yet or ever done before, or be better at it, or truer to ourselves because of it. And yet here we are, surprised that a week's race has already been run and we're still lacing up our shoes (or in my case, continuing to look for them).
I've been assured that life is a marathon and that it's also a sprint. Not sure which is true if not both but am reasonably certain life is not a sitting still and allowing the events to wash over us like endless waves on a distant shore. I think there is more than something to be said for taking up arms against a sea of troubles and by thus opposing, end them.
How will anyone else know we were ever here if we behave as if we should apologize for our very existence throughout every day of it? Life is not something to be muddled through. It is a shout, a cry sometimes of anguish and sometimes of exultation, but always loud and always true.
I know that I don't know much (and have almost sixty-five years of the proof of that), but I know this: Life is NOT a search for a reason to be here. It is the reason. Start acting like it.