exist
Deep winter dark. Quiet. The treed property of our Gatineau pad and the dark streets on which I walk the dog are thick with reflection. I think a lot about death. As the days come and go and I grow older, I focus on existence. What exactly is this matrix we are in? I wake up sometimes and have immediate anxiety over the fact that I will perish. What good is that knowledge? Would it almost be better to not know that we die? I'm not sure.I think about my daughter as she speeds through various stages of kidness. I'm a passenger on a ship that does not stop. It steams on towards...something. It's hard to tell what is waiting.
My late thirties were filled with a lot of beauty and reflection. I soaked up those post marriage years like butter marrow in the deep alcove of a marinated flank steak. I worked a lot but my off time was my own. In having a child, you truly cross through a threshold and you see that this life is so not about you - and that we really all are small potatoes.
Everyone thinks their shit is so important.
