Another couple of years gone by. They pass quicker and quicker the older I get. Perhaps I am not in such a dark place now. But then again maybe I am and i don't know it. Maybe I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It's hard not to think about my life and say to myself, "Wow, what a wasted life." Instantly another voice says, " What, then, is a life unwasted ? " and it is this voice that I know to be my own. The former voice is the voice of my father and all the others in my life that have known for sure that I was wrong about this or that.

The thing is....he, they...don't know. In their dark moments they say the same thing. Doubt creeps up from behind them like a press gang spotting a new crew mate for the trip to China. Doubt stalks us all

We are all in a fog, wandering around aimlessly, blind and close to panic. We desperately turn this way and that, looking for the way to go that will lead us to more certain footing. Sometimes we grab others that stumble near to us and we cling to them desperately because they walk with a more confident stride through the fog. We hope against all hope that they know something we don't.

They don't.

Everyone is lost and worried. Everyone is a breath away from second guessing every action and every stand they ever took on anything. Everyone is dying to be led out of the fog.

My voice tells me that my life is not wasted. It says that my path through the fog is just as right and true as anyone's course. My voice tells me not to worry about the fog. It tells me to enjoy my stroll but to be careful in encouraging others to do the same. My voice tells me to run with my eyes closed. My voice tells me not to worry....


It also tells me not to be overly concerned with the sounds of death that come from somewhere inside the fog.

So here I am and here you are, strangers met breifly in a thick miasma with the sounds of death and dying SOMEWHERE in the fog....
It really is nice to meet you.