The best reason to continue living in this life is to become the best version of yourself that is humanly possible. If you are not better than the you of yesterday, in my opinion, you are essentially wasting your time, or whatever.
Is today the first day of the rest of your life? Do you have unanswered questions? So do I. It’s day 1 for me too. A peculiar elderly Peruvian Lyft driver of mine told me in January that the answers to all of my questions are “all right there in front of you [me]” and that simply need to watch, look, and listen to discover it myself. Just about every day since then, I’ve thought of the long conversation I had with the mysterious stranger that night, and out of the purest serendipitous circumstances after heeding his words of wisdom, I was never more sure of what I’m sure of as I write this optimistic-minded post. No matter how sarcastic my writing gets, somewhere in the message is a glimmer of hope. I do not know why it exists or why it’s there, but it is. The fact that I recognize it is enough to move me on to do what I do the next time I wake up and see what’s out there.
Serendipity. Serendipity. Serendipity.
“…However, let it go. It is the will of God that we must have critics, and missionaries, and Congressmen, and humorists, and we must bear the burden. Meantime, I seem to have been drifting into criticism myself. But that is no thing. At the worst, criticism is nothing more than a crime, and I am not unused to that.” -Mark Twain, on criticism
Cut to the scene where I will be myself and speak my mind regardless of what criticism shows itself on the horizon. Press play. That’s right now, yo. I will not be intimidated by some AH who has nothing better to do with their time but hatefully criticize a thought that shaves against the grain of the mainstream mustache. I’ve lived enough, I don’t feel like I need any more stories, yet I continue to write them and share new stories for nothing much more than the fuck of it. Why would any sane person put themselves out there the way so many like us braves have, for nothing but the fuck of it? Are we reaching for love?