Life finds a way to get its hard parts into our hands, and like molded clay, we take on subtle folds and creases, indications of our histories. The events shape our forms, define our lines.
We're there, ultimately, standing with steely command, staring into the abyss again and again, which becomes easier with every resolved and committed glance, until we settle upon the edge, where it no longer intimidates. Our curiosity stokes in the constant and indomitable turns life brings. But, eventually, we get there and feel inexplicably at home, hopefully seeking to offer light and a hand for others on their paths, because this dash is intent for sharing and all experiences are bettered in the uplifting architecture of good company.
The most memorable journeys don't feel momentous during the march. It's within the unexpected details, the long malaise, the hard parts where greatness forges in the belly of one's inner furnace. Of course, the hardest part will always be pushing to the end. The bounty is our new layer of skin, and richer complexity--the kind of strength admired without vanity.
Real fortuitous depth.
Song of the Day: Little Green Cars - "The John Wayne"