The Day Had Aged Well

Reflection: #45

The day had aged well and had no regrets. As I looked out my window, I noticed the dark lines of shadows crisscrossing today’s face, getting deeper and longer and letting the world know that this greying day had lived and had enjoyed its time in the sun. It had no regrets as the darkness approached to finally put this cycle to rest. It had been a good day and now it was time for the night. It was time to sleep. It is the way of the world, these cycles of birth, vibrancy, fading, sleep. We see it every day. We see it in the flora and fauna of nature around us. We see it in our beloved pets and our friends and families. And, although we sometimes, often, try to pretend otherwise, we see it in ourselves. But, when we look around, we see that it is the eternal dance of light and dark. Birth and death. Order and Chaos. Something and nothing. One and Zero. And that's really the point isn't it? Ones and zeros. Existence/Non-existence.

Perhaps if we learned to think of each day we had on this earth as a complete and separate life - in itself a complete trip on this earth - we would learn to enjoy our time more. Maybe we should not consider ourselves to be allotted 70 or 80 years (if we’re lucky) on this earth. That's too abstract (unless we happen to be close to those ages). Let's instead consider that we each get 25,000 to 30,000 chances, days, to live on this earth. Each day we waste is a wasted chance. A wasted life. Wasting a few is no big deal - consider those learning experiences. Wasting half would leave us with regrets. Wasting them all would be tragic. The universe is merciful to give us, at least some of us, so many chances. Those who don't get so many chances, those who die young, would shake their heads at how many of those chances the rest of us take for granted.

So, as I looked out my window and watched the shadows lengthen, as the lines of the day stretch across its face - telegraphing its impending old age and fading away, I look in the mirror — at the lines on my own face — and am struck by how many chances I've already wasted. But I've also had some good ones and, barring unforeseen circumstances, I should have quite a few more chances — my wrinkles aren't quite so deep yet, it's not quite dusk, the darkness is still a few hours away so, as I've done so many times before, I nod to myself and think, "Tomorrow is another day."

---