recently talked about how change is ubiquitous, but I failed to mention also how abrupt it truly is. Our lives are much like the weather – minus the forecast – you never know when it will rain, and when it will be sunny again. I was happy again, or at least beginning to feel content and at peace with myself. But of course, if that remained to be the case, then life just wouldn’t be life.
I’m grateful for the things I have, but being human, I can’t help but focus on the things missing. Love life… nonexistent. Job security… in shambles. Grad school… a question mark. Whenever I’m down, my Mom has an interesting way of pointing out the greater hardships others faced throughout their lives – as if comparing my situation to theirs will make mine appear minuscule. I suppose it works for the first five minutes, after which the dose begins to wear off and I revert to my moping self.
But for some reason, this time around, I’m ok. Or at least I think I am. It’s as if God has been on a mission to break me out of my shell and make me look at life with eyes wide open. And what a sight it is. I know there’s a lot more to see, but at the rate my life has been going from 0 to 60 (and back) in the span of one year, I’m not sure if I can keep up.
I guess the important thing to remember is that even if you can’t keep up, keep your chin up. There will come a point in your life when days feel like weeks, and minutes feel like hours. Anticipation sometimes is purely what keeps us going. Either we're waiting for something to pass, or waiting for something to arrive. One minute you may feel invincible, and at moments notice, feel completely defeated.
Time doesn't wait for anyone... at times, you'll speed ahead or fall back... but in the end, the race is only with yourself.
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz. At your local library they have these arranged in ways that can make you cry, giggle, love, hate, wonder, ponder, and understand. It's astonishing to see what these twenty-six little marks can do. In Shakespeare's hands they became Hamlet. Mark Twain wound them into Huckleberry Finn. James Joyce twisted them into Ulysses. Gibbon pounded them into The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. John Milton shaped them into Paradise Lost.
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