What is life anyway?
What does it mean to live or get by and somehow, you have a few extra moments, at some point, just to look back at the work you’ve left behind, and say yeah, that was me.
I did that!
I suppose life is a collection of memories. Life is a series of moments and experiences and above all, life is the ever-changing road on which we began and, of course, we started, we found our way to the middle, and in the end, we find ourselves at the doorstep of mystery. And there we are at the entrance of twilight, wondering about the salvation of an afterlife or the sanctity of heaven, and thus, this is it.
No one knows what comes next.
So, is this life?
Or is life nothing more than the here and now moments, which are gone in a second, which means if you’re in the crux of some unforeseen problem or if you find yourself in the aftermath of some unforsaken moment; if you’re tired and you’re hurting, or if your life seems too damned hard, then give it a minute—and let the clock turn.
Breathe. Take it in.
Learn what you can and keep yourself from making the same mistakes.
What is life?
I suppose life can be summed up by our senses, such as in sight, smell, taste, touch and sound. Like the way my Grandmother’s hands felt, so soft as ever, like a chenille blanket, as in warm and comforting. This is how I remember her touch.
Or with another sense, take the sound of my Grandmother’s voice when she used to sing to me or tell me bedtime stories. Nothing in the world could be more comforting than this, except of course, when she made soup.
Or, ah the smell of the beach or the smell of salt air behind the building at 100 Lincoln Road, in Miami Beach. No one else really knows about this. But you do.
I know because I’ve told you.
Or what about the sound of the clock tower, which used to ring from a nearby church. This rang at the hour, especially at noon, and no one else would know about this or how deep this memory runs.
But you do.
Few people remember this time, which was when Miami Beach was still Miami Beach, which is back before South Beach was even a term. And fewer people knew about Denny’s, which is where we used to go for breakfast, over on the corner at Lincoln and Collins.
But that’s all gone now.
I suppose this is life. This is real life and real memories and real parts of my story, which span back over five decades now — and counting.
I would love to tell you that life is a series of lofty moments, as pure or as beautiful as a Norman Rockwell painting, like an American dream.
I would love to say that life is as beautiful or as brilliant as something from a Thomas Kinkade painting, but my taste in art has changed, and my appreciation for Kinkade has been dulled or muted, due to years of experience or as a result of tainted stories which are the moments and memoires that occur in life and change our perception or change our point of view.
This is life too.
Kinkade is still beautiful.
I still have his paintings.
But my appreciation is not the same nor is his mastery of light.
But that’s life.
We see, we change, we grow, and sometimes, we peddle back to the beginning or find our world has come full-circle, to teach us and allow us to realize that we’ve always had the things we needed.
We just never believed that life (or love) is really that simple.
Life is a first kiss. Life is a memory of an introduction and life is a line which extends outward, like a long mapped out trip and hence, life is proven by how life changed at the opening moments of an introduction, and just like that, life is never going to be the same again.
And keeping with the spirit of this journal, and sticking to the point, life is a series of tricks.
Some are simple. Some are elaborate.
Some of the tricks we see are miracles and some are simply gifts that come without explanation. They are tricks that find us at the right time, like say, when we need to see or hear something the most.
Life is a random reintroduction to someone, as if to say, wake up world.
This is something you have to see.
This is life too.
This is magic and as it is or as it should be, there is magic in this world. There are people, places, and things which leave us with an indelible mark, or an unforgettable imprint, which both improves and alters our life, our love, and the way we live, or the way we love, laugh, and the way we learn has all changed just because someone walked through a doorway.
Life is a series of losses and misses, slips and falls, scars, skinned knees, bumped heads, paper cuts, scratches and burns.
But either way . . . we learn.
We learn from the pain.
If we’re lucky, that is.
Life is a trip to unknown places and moments in an airport, facing the big windows and watching planes roll in and roll back out again. Life is watching the planes taxi away from the gate, just before taking to the runway and then taking off into the air, once again.
Life is the imagination of watching planes take off and fly to some faraway destination or to someplace which I have never seen, but only dreamed of.
I like this part of life.
I say life is a series of ups and downs and moments of awareness.
Yes, this is life.
You can bet your ass on this.
Life is marked by landscaped sights which stand out to us, like signs throughout the journey.
For example, life is the playhouse which I used to walk passed, every day.
This place has meaning to me.
The play at this playhouse was written by a man who died the night before his opening night.
This is my biggest fear – to die just before I round the corner, and make my way to the center of the stage.
Time waits for no one. And to which, this means, “no one knows the hour, nor the day. Not the Angels in Heaven, nor even The Son. Only The Father knows.”
Or, so they say.
I can say that I do not know the hour or the day nor do I know if I’ll ever have enough time to pull off my trick.
I don’t know if I’ll ever write the next best American Novel.
I don’t know if I’ll ever “make it,” so-to-speak.
Maybe I already have.
Or, maybe not.
Maybe never . . .
I just don’t know.
I don’t know much.
I don’t know what it’s like to stand at the Amalfi Coast at sunset.
I don’t know what the morning smells like in Fiji.
I don’t know what the sunrise looks like in Baja Del Sur, or how it feels to wade in knee-deep waters surrounding Isla Espiritu Santo, which means Island of The Holy Spirit.
I might not ever see the places I’ve dreamed of.
and that’s okay.
This is life.
Live it.
Build a fire and sit under the nighttime sky.
Go fishing. Go somewhere.
Take a walk.
Take a break.
Take a dream and build like a castle.
Do this one brick at a time.
Pull off your trick.
Say I love you and make it count.
Say goodbye to what was and remember, its okay not to look back.
Besides, life is a drive, and no drive is meant to be seen while looking in the rearview mirror.
So, drive forward and keep your eyes on the road.
Live, love, laugh and learn.
Go, be, do.
Pull your trick, wholesomely, and without apology.
Not everything works out the way we thought it would.
But then again, everything works out . . .
in the end.
But this is not the end.
This is just the beginning.
The Written Addiction 