Size Seven Shoes

I am older now. Not old, for that would imply that I have gained wisdom that comes from age, which is not entirely the case. But yet, I am older... because I see more clearly now the rhythm of things. Of how life often flows in cycles. Seasons. Changes. Growth. Death. Rebirth. Purposes, which only time reveals. Stories now claimed because they have in fact been lived through. Attested to. The benefits of hindsight. Years add perspective to vision. Experience lends clarity to decisions. Old enough to know that not everything stays the same, and cherishing every single good thing counts. A little more worn in, perhaps a little more tired, a bit less easily amused but still hopeful.

I've always found the phrase "packing my life into boxes" amusing. People tend to use it whenever they're they're gathering their stuff in preparation move to a new place to stay. I've always wondered, figuratively speaking, what would the boxes contain if I were to literally attempt to pack my life into them? And by this I don't mean the physical things I own, but rather, what are the things that make up what my life is all about. Would it be full of perishable endeavours - things that perhaps bring pleasure only for the moment but have no real lasting value? Or would it have a respectable amount of treasures - invaluable items that were acquired through much determination and hard work? In a nutshell, would the boxes containing my life be a delight to someone else, had they been packaged into a gift box? Is my life of any worth? These are the questions that prod at my conscience presently.The answers are not straight forward in any sense of the w...