We are born into love and joy.
We are raised by those who do the best they know to do.
We become independent and experience bliss and grief, and all things between.
When we die, we cease to exist. But the memory of us may echo in someone’s mind.
While we are here, it’s a bonus if we can improve humanity’s existence, even incrementally.
Be brave. Be humble. Love someone. Help another. Prosper.
There are times for standing still and times to run wild and free. Always, inevitably, there is that vast space in between.
Some stamp and whinny there, as if bound by rope. They strain to be free from the unseen shackles.
Others pace and worry and seek differentiation, reassurance. They whirl in a panic, troubled and confused by the swirl and an unheard dissonance.
And yet others do what most do, and connect themselves – immerse themselves – in the flow, the river, of human experience.
This is the kitchen before renovation: cramped, dated, with impossible-to-clean cheap cabinets.