One of the most dangerous things you could ever do is forget that you're alive.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you are alive, and this is a rare gift. You, a living, breathing, thinking human, are granted a limited number of days and experiences, and no one else's time here will ever be exactly like yours. I hope you've learned a thing or two so far.
As I scurry throughout my own endless days, which often blur together, I notice hoards of people doing the same. We're all rushing and racing. But where are we going?
Sometimes, it's the coffee shop. You stand in line for half an hour on a Monday morning, fake a smile when you reach the counter and order a French vanilla cappuccino in a plastic cup you will throw away and forget.
Sometimes, it's to work. You clock in at 8 a.m. with sleep still in your eyes and leave the office at 5 p.m. with an impossibly exhausted expression. You walk to your car in the rain, shoulders slumped over, hands in your pockets. As you drive home, the radio plays the same five songs over and over again. Even music is white noise. The smoke spills from your exhaust pipe.
Sometimes - more often than not - the destination seems to be nowhere at all. Your conversations with your cashier and your coworker and your mother are empty. You buy coffee you don't need, in a cup you won't keep. Your activities on the job consist of a range of mechanical motions. Your music and your movies don't say much.
No one knows what's going on here or where exactly we're going, but right now, we're here, and we're alive.
Perhaps it's time we remembered that.
