So there this guy I know. He loves music, movies, photography and life. He has a great wife and awesome kids. He has opinions. He travels a lot. And he enjoys writing. Someone suggested blogging.
I received news this week of another father I knew, who died of a heart attack @ the age of 43, whilst training for an ultramarathon. Would have been his tenth. Alanis Morissette could have use this in her song some years back. But it remained sad and I panicked for a moment. I became aware of the brutal reality that is my fragile existence on this little blue ball in the middle of the cosmos. (Yes I know technically it is not in the middle.)
Life happens, constantly. No one gets a time out. There is no remote control with a pause button. One day Death just comes along and taps you on the shoulder with the words, “Time’s up.” Wow. Did I just write that? Morbid are we not?
We have been taught to embrace life, to appreciate all the fellow passengers on the bus with us. Our loved ones, friends, collegues. My point is this: Writing things down allows you to take stock. It is inhaling air after holding your breath, waiting for the elevator doors to open, when you, I mean someone passed wind. A holiday for our minds. The closest thing to a pause button.
And get this: The beauty of writing is that it does not even matter what you write about.
Whether it is pinning down the randomness floating in your head or stating some obsolete opinion on pop culture. It might be sharing experiences of life, telling stories of travel. Or all of the above, because maybe you might even inspire someone somewhere.
So one day we can return and read all these paragraphs and have some better understanding of that guy whom I spoke about before, the one that lives in my bathroom mirror.