adobe

It's so easy to pretend that everything is okay. The difficulty presents itself when all of the pretending catches up to you. When all of the fake smiles, and the sweet replies of yes-things-are-just-fine keep you awake at night, you find that there is no way out but down the path called more-of-the-same.

I wish I could say that in the past three years I have somewhat improved in understanding and outlook, but sometimes I fear that any perceived growth is the residue of a pretty illusion.

I do believe that individuals are the cause of most of their own unhappiness and misfortune. Complicated lives usually arise from misplaced and misjudged priorities. Just the same, it is also true that the cards are dealt unfairly, and that some have less to start with, and must deal with tragedy that others seem to magically elude.

Have I finally come to terms with things as-they-are? At one point, I figured that nothing really mattered. But if it were so, where would one find happiness, where would one find joy, and where would you find love?

Living is an art. Some go through life rapidly and with assertion, while others are more haphazard. Some exist beautifully, perhaps even elegantly. And there are the rest of us, who meander as if waiting for change, waiting for more, waiting for meaning.

My parents went on one of those 10-day cruises down to the Mexican Riviera to celebrate 30 years of marriage. The sheer longevity of this partnership (or anyone elses whose marriage lasts as long) boggles my mind.

I've always been so good at hiding. Hiding from others, from myself. It's difficult to look at the reflection. The crispness, the accuracy, the forthright portrayal of reality staring back at you. Makes you wonder where the years went, and where they will continue to go.