“Life happens too fast for you ever to think about it. If you could just persuade people of this, but they insist on amassing information.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

Every day is another stack of life lessons. It’s all a blur—a rapidity of memories rushing past. Right to the end. And to borrow from Vonnegut again, so it goes.

I shake my head at all the books I’ve read trying to find answers to life’s questions. Philosophy, business, poetry, history, a taste test of the world religions, biographies of the greats, and that lumpy guilty pleasure category that I shudder to think about as I get older, self-help. What we consume comes to consume us. So we ought to make it as nutritious as possible.

Looking back on a list of goals I stumbled across from three decades ago, I saw that I’d accomplished some, I’d thrown others onto the pile of “not in this lifetime”, and one or two still gnaw at my soul, awaiting my attention. In this way, I’m like everyone else who’s ever lived long enough to see the past receding into the distance. If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the end feeling like we’ve done enough.

Enough. What is enough anyway? It’s a question that rises up within as we get older. Is this enough or should we do more still? Just when are we going to slow down and enjoy where we are now? We can’t possibly do everything, we can only decide what to be and do our damndest to be it. Maybe we’re already there.