I have less than an hour of quiet time, writing time. In less than an hour the tv goes back on and the talking starts, and I won’t be free to write. So here it goes.
Are there an infinite number of different realities just as real as the one we know? I have to assume that what I think of as real is real. It’s all I know isn’t it? Or is it? When I dream, am I not in a reality? How could it not be real? I can see and hear it.
What if I could live life fearlessly? Fear keeps us out of danger, but it keeps us from living fully doesn’t it? Where would I be today if I had decided to overcome my fears? I think I would be fulfilled. I think I would be wildly successful. My existence now could be called mediocre. Life is okay, sometimes it’s good, but it could be more. I turn 42 this month, and it feels like I’m running out of time.
I have love, health, shelter, and food. I’m one of the lucky ones on this planet. What more could I want? Maybe the answer is to be satisfied with what I’ve got. Maybe that’s a cop out.
It is so very quiet in my living room now. The view from the atrium doors is serene in it’s ordinariness. I see budding trees, sprouting dandelions, green grass, and a blue sky. Sunlight bounces off the front of the shed. That’s my very own backyard. The first yard I’ve ever owned.
My less than an hour is about up. Time to turn on the noise.