Or maybe it’s a metaphor. I don’t know, I get the two confused sometimes. Anyway, I was listening to a song and it said:
“Story of my life, you’re just another page.”
I started thinking about life as a book..
I wondered how long a page would be in terms of life time. A page definitely wouldn’t equal a year; most books are at least 200 pages and we don’t live to be 200 years. A page in the book of life wouldn’t equal a day either. We live way longer than 200 days. (Usually).
Then I imagined each day being a single word in a book. Or each sentence being a week.
Looking at it that way made the most sense in my mind.
It takes time to write a good book of life. Sometimes, we want to speed through and skip to the next chapter or get to the “good part.” What we don’t understand is that what we write today, right now, changes the rest of the story.
And we only get one letter a day. So we have to string together a bunch of really good, coherent days if we want to write even a tiny, little piece of the story.
That’s both good and bad.
It’s bad because it feels like so much time and effort and work just to create one relatively small piece of the puzzle. Like a grudge match. But, it’s also good because if we screw up — which we will — we can correct course and say what we really want to say in the end.
Time spent writing: 28 mins