I have tried to gather my thoughts on what has happened in America in the last week.
I have not been able to gather them well yet, I don’t think.
I know I haven’t gathered them well enough for rational comment, other than the next few sentences.
The world is a noisy place, and the older I get the more I understand there’s a lot to be said for silence.
When a brush with death happens, people often say they’re lucky to be alive.
I don’t think luck has anything to do with it.
We’ll go back to my senior year in high school for this story — Spring Break of my senior year as a matter of fact.
There are days here so quiet you can hear sand hit the bottom of an hourglass, or a clock tick away the seconds.
Time moves that way, quietly.
Everybody knows time goes fast, but it tends to sneak by so quiet sometimes you forget til you’re left to wonder where it’s all gone.
Days like this tend to take me back to a time when I thought I knew a lot more than I knew, before I realized I know a lot less than I thought.
Time’s passage is familiar.
I understand days, months and years just fine.
Time seems to pass faster the longer I live, but I don’t always understand why people label things the way they do because of it.
When, exactly, does someone become old?
I do not hurry well.
I never have, and I guess I never will.
I’m not built for it, and I’m glad.
This story stinks.
It’s a quick story about how I spent parts of my summer vacations, and how I learned the value of hard work.
It’s a story filled with scents which bring back childhood memories for me and make most other people want to throw up.
People who teach are special people.
When I was a student, I had great teachers.
They taught me, sure, but they also challenged me and brought out the best in me even when I didn’t see it in myself.
Every one of them had a hand in who I am, and I am grateful to them all.
This post would be so long it’d be insufferable if I told you a story about each of the teachers who contributed to my education and made sure I’m at least not an ignoramus.
We really should pay our teachers more for a ton of reasons, not the least of which is some of those saints had to teach me mathematics.
People say you’re never too old to learn, and I believe them.
Recently, I’ve learned some things I thought or assumed about myself and my life really don’t define me or limit me as much as I thought, if they do at all.
They were just needless burdens I shouldered myself with and carried for far too long.
I guess I’ve never really stopped being a student, and I’m glad because these new lessons have melted away a lot of the insecurities I had for a lot of years and changed my entire outlook on my life in the future.
It’s true you’re never too old to learn, and I’ve learned you’re never too old to be inspired by a teacher.
When there is darkness, I think it’s natural to look for the light.