I have lived on the razor’s edge my entire life trying to amass only what is necessary with nothing left over to leave behind.
They say you can’t take it with you, but I’ve made my share of mistakes, blunders and ridiculous assumptions. I have failed tests, arguments and simple navigation.
Hopefully, when I’m availed of my erroneous notions, I am forthcoming and accountable, if not apologetic.
When I mess up, I like to think I own it. Funny, it’s one of the few things you get to keep in life, a souvenir you can take with you.
Like an untethered fragment on the road of choice, I have been lent the freedom of will to take every last wrong turn I so choose.
Alone I travel from fire to fire with a picnic on my back and a conductor’s baton to stir the ashes.
At night I cry for lost children, the homeless and forsaken, and the poets who can only offer their pity like a parasol in a tempest.
I am the wretched addressing the pathetic, the buffoon critiquing clownery. I am the Robinson Crusoe in the ballot box looking for the lever that says coin return.
Indeed, the solitary life is quite an adventure, but every now and then, it is wise to take stock of oneself, to inventory the pantry of what has been revealed and what is to become.
As we navigate our way, it’s good to reaffirm the stars above and the earth below with clarity and a certain benign familiarity. We are, after all, the fate of each our own reckoning.
According to Socrates, “the unexamined life is not worth living.”
However, it was Woody Allen who said, “I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.”
This conjugation of philosophy is the color of my flag, the lyric of my life and the baseball card in the spoke of my wheelhouse.