The Reason Why

Mark Twain wrote that the two most important days of one's life are the day one is born and the day one remembers why. Well, I have been sitting with that thought for sixty some years, the last two of which have been mostly alone. In that time, some of the silt in my little brain has settled, leaving clearer views of things. Rather than the turbid mess of busyness, I have been doing a whole lot of nothing but asking the question why. The answer is not one that I can think through, but rather one that has to come from hunches, attention to what makes me feel full and alive, little palpitations of the heart. I had to learn to see the objects of my heart's desires. What has been emerging is a trust in dreams, imagination, adventure, vulnerability, and generosity. It is in dedication to an art, in surrender to a creative urge, that peace resides. It is in submission to craft, patience, teachability, and practice that my restless heart finds a home. The unfettered joy of childhood fantasies are what I try to remember now, and that fills me with forgiveness for all of my detours. It really is that day that I remember why, and begin to live that purpose, that will be the other most important day of my life.