People spend a lot of time wondering about their purpose in life. Why are we here? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?! Dramatics aside, it’s a valid question. What do we do with this life we’ve been given?
I don’t know. I really don’t have any answers. All I know is, tonight I grabbed a book, and then I contemplated if I was supposed to drink tea or wine with my book. And then I thought about the author, Marina Keegan, and the fact that she was such a bright spark for such a short time. She fiercely wanted to be a writer. I believe she probably wanted to be a lot of things. And she probably was. However, her writing, even in its developmental stages was so moving, that after her untimely departure, the teachers and people who knew her gathered her writings to publish a book in her name. They did this because they strongly believed that her words had to be heard even after her death. That her potential had been snuffed out too soon. And that she deserved to be heard.
So, I’m pouring a glass of wine, and I’m going to start reading her book, The Opposite of Loneliness. I’m going to wrap myself up in her stories and absorb a little bit of the writer that I will never get to know. Just like a glass of red wine makes me feel like I can sit in Spain with Ernest Hemingway, or in a squalid apartment with Charles Bukowski, or in an Italian restaurant with Elizabeth Gilbert.
Everything in this life should be an experience, from hiking Kilimanjaro, down to reading a book on your sofa. The secret to life? It’s just to live. Live every moment. Every feeling. Every word.