An ode to living

Growing up my parents rather fortunately brought my siblings and me to California wine country. I took this photo in our trip to Napa. Regrettably at the time, we were all underage.

As I write this, I can say that my taste for wine has developed since. And at 23 years of age, I can attest that peace of mind is found midway through a bottle of cab.

A few sips or glasses in, and the succulent bliss of quality grape hasn’t hit you quite yet. Finish the entire bottle and you’re left more sad that it’s over than you are happy with how far you’ve come.


The same can be said for a nice meal, a slice of cake or a strong brew of coffee. Once you’ve reached that halfway point, you’re at the sweet spot. At this juncture, you’re immersed in the sweet pleasure of gluttonous delight.

You think not of what a shit day you’ve had already or the fact that the indulgent break is almost at its end. Is life itself not the same?

We’re interminably chasing. We aim for the next best thing–whether that’s looking backward or setting our sights on an imagined future.

Wishing we hadn’t finished that last bottle and dreaming of things to come. I write not because I know the answer; I am far from it.


But that’s quite okay, is it not? In the end, all we can tangibly do is live each day better than the one before. Reach higher, love harder, connect more deeply–this is learned with age.

And by age I mean not the numbers of years, but more the experience within those years. It’s not the years in life but the life in the years, as they say.

Let’s make them count.

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