on remembering to look up

So the bindle is two years old today.  How about that?  When it was born I was living on wasabi peas, drinking myself to sleep every night on a mattress on the floor of a bare room.  These words and sounds and images were a desperate attempt to communicate with a world that didn’t particularly care.

But life is a wild thing.  Perpetually shifting and uncertain, each fading sunset could be replaced by literally anything.  It’s so god damn beautiful — casually, constantly, like it’s nothing.  Whenever I remember to pick my head up out of myself, there it is:  so vivid, so bright, so saturated with light and sound and sensation.

Sandwiched between billions of years of darkness and endless nothing, this tiny riot of existence is unbelievable.  Some days it’s so much I can’t stand it.

Some days it’s hard to be a cynic.

Joshua Clark Orkin