Memories Out of Season

 

January 1, 2014

I was born just a few hours before the new year of 1948, so from the start, I have loved beginnings.

And yes, yes, I know, such pre-packaging of time is contrived and artificial, based on an imperfect calendar no less (Leap year has always struck me as cheating.)

Yet there is, I think, within our humanity this love of beginnings, for each holds the potential for renewal and reinvention, possibly redemption, and getting it right this time.

The journey that is one's life has many beginnings and many endings--it's not always easy to tell the difference--and if I am granted a conscious dying, then I plan to greet Death with open arms, telling him, "It's okay. I love beginnings."