To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. Oscar Wilde In the early morning hours of March 3, 2024, I woke with thoughts running through my mind like squirrels playing in an attic, dashing from corner to corner. That evening, my wife would be throwing a party for family and friends in celebration of my soon-to-be sixth decade of life. Birthdays, even those considered milestones, have never bothered me nor stirred me with thoughts of what I’ve done with my life or of my future, but my sixtieth has. So, I threw the covers aside and climbed out of bed and began to write. What follows are the thoughts that came to me that early Sunday morning—a sort of manifesto for the days ahead, presented as remarks I might have delivered at the party.
Fine words. Would love to have heard them in person, after a fine meal, but they translate well to this means of transmission too. Keep up the thoughtful work.
Fine words. Would love to have heard them in person, after a fine meal, but they translate well to this means of transmission too. Keep up the thoughtful work.