I am unsettled by how easy it is for me to live an intransitive life: one that has lost sight of its direct object, with verbs flying everywhere, anchoring themselves to an assortment of indirect objects rather than devoting themselves to their true object. Or getting caught up in adjectives, the aesthetics of my living, or adverbs, the way I appear as I do things.

Of course I know that it is impossible to live life with incessant unwavering focus on the reason I believe I am here. Part of life's wonderousness is that it is teeming with adjectives and adverbs. When used properly, these add richness and texture to my story--to a large extent, they are its glory, and often they surprise me with glimpses into its meaning. To refuse to let them divert me would be to blind myself to that richness, those glimpses. But to get carried away with them, to devote myself to them, is tantamount to making my life a frivolity, and I do not want to do that.

A life well lived is like a story well written. A well written story is built by well written sentences: sentences that are focused on the greater plot. A life well lived is built by well-lived moments: moments that are focused on the greater purpose of it all.

Half the time I don't have the vision to see how many of my experiences will matter, ultimately. But I believe that if I live like they DO (because I believe that they do)...then one day I will look over my shoulder and see that they HAVE mattered. I will see how they have made a difference.

That is how I want to live my life: open to surprises, receptive to aesthetics, thoughtful about my own presence within it, but always all this in light of eternity and the meaning it casts on each passing moment.