My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Today May Be Enough
He wishes some days there were more time, but realizes too that no matter how much might be available it might not be enough. There would be more to do, more to realize, more things to be written, read, or thought about, and that would always be so. That being the case, time -- or at least its length -- may not be the issue after all. Today may really be enough, and more might add only length and that would be of insufficient value. Were it to end at this juncture, it would be no less complete. It is already full today.
Labels:
appreciation,
good enough,
time,
today
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