Meaning of Life by Don Bernal

Lately, Iíve been thinking about the meaning of life.

Not that Iím actually trying to figure it out.  Iím not dying in a year or something like that.  And I still get stuck on crossword puzzles and such, so Iím not going to get anywhere new with this.  But Iím just considering the ďmeaningĒ of life.
Like the word itself:  ďlifeĒ.  My best guess (since I donít want to get up and get my Websterís dictionary) is : anything that ainít dead.  Second-best guess:  something that will die eventually.  Life, to me and my infinite ways, is something that ainít dead, something that begins, and surely, ends.  The mere fact of this isnít lost on me.  Everything that begins, ends.  Put a pencil to a paper, and that will end.  Either the line will cease to be no more,  or that lead will vanish into the fiberís of natureís notepad.  What about a circle, you say?  What about it?  When you draw one, you donít spend forever circling the thing over and over again.  And when you look at a circle, it doesnít really start anywhere.  So stop arguing with me and let me finish.

We start.  And we end.  We have no choice in the first, and we can only manipulate, minusculy, the last.  Life would suck if we donít have control about these things.  So where do we have a say, then?  Why, in the middle, of course?    Just as when you put a pencil to a paper, you have control over how it gets to the end.  Some spend drawing a straight line from A to B, others keep drawing and drawing till they get the shape right.  Every kind of life that has been lived has a shape on a paper.  Thatís what we have to play with.  Youíre born, you die, out of your control.  But the middle, the creamy filling, its yours.  Thatís your life.  Take it.  And donít be quite so messy.

Iím going to cry now.  Not really.  Iím not particularly in the mood to do so, but I could.  It might be fun.  Itís out there.  Itís extreme.  I donít draw many straight lines.  I canít.  Itís too precise.  And my fingers make everything curvy.  I like the shapes of  the letters on this page, I think its the curves, the variations, the sheer unknown direction of the next moment that I see my life in.  Thatís my meaning, of course.

And youíll have your own.  Thatís very important. Donít take my word.  Please, donít.  Itís mine.  Youíll have your own.  Mine is, today, about the middle.  Youíll have your own.

The point.  Itís this.  Youíll enjoy life more when you donít think about it, and actually do it.

I miss the people I have known in my life.  The ones who mattered enough to me that I swerved my line to get closer to theirs.  The ones who drew the most fantastic things with that pencil on paper.  Just beautiful things that you canít comprehend till you see it.  I try to get those shapes in my life.  Thatís how I remember them.  And thatís how I want to life my life, too.
So, to cap it off: the meaning of life - Donít be a circle.  Cause youíre not.  Get out of that loop and let your Picasso go.  Thank you, and please say hi to the pencil when you leave.

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