The List

About a week ago I remembered a list I had made long ago of the things that I wanted to do before I died. I found it. It’s a bit amusing to be honest. I made the list while still a virgin and most likely fresh out of high school or soon to be.

I wrote that I wanted to do such things as naturally, have sex (as all teens want to do), but also I wrote down simple, less complicated things like riding a roller coaster or go to Jazzfest. I’ve done all of those things now, but there are still several that I still want to do and a few that I don’t have an interest in anymore.

My list looks a little bit like this now:

Run the Mini-Marathon
Skydive
White Water Raft
Scuba Dive
Go Sailing
Fly A Plane
Make Photographs in a Dark Room
Kayak or Canoe Alone
Go Dancing with Alejandro
Go on Picnics
Travel to Many Places
Learn Gardening with Patience
Learn to Cook with Patience
Go to Disneyworld
Take Part in Mardi Gras
Go to the Theatre
Experience a Hurricane
Go Storm Chasing
Drive Across Country
Experience Weightlessness
Ride the Bicycle Again
Write a Newspaper Article
Learn A Self Defense Philosophy
Get Married
Buy A House
Have Babies
Adopt Children
Adopt More Animals
Start A Business
Write in Different Formats
Learn Spanish and Italian
Learn How to Make Pottery
Learn How to Make Baskets
Paint
Knit Scarves

It’s a long list, but I know I’m not done adding things to it. I don’t know why I am alive or why I will some day die, but I do know that I will make the best of the life that I have.

What's the point?

I have lived my life reading book after book and seeing movie after movie and the one thing that has remained constant is that there is always a beginning, middle, and an end to every story. Every struggle needs a conclusion and every story needs a beginning. In the past couple days I have had one question in my mind – what is the point of living and dying?

My Papaw has decided that it is time to die after struggling with a number of ailments in these past few years. The dialysis that has been allowing him to live is something he no longer wants to do. So, now we must say goodbye and let his journey come to an end. Why? What’s the point of living if you are only going to die in the end anyway? Why do we struggle to learn, work, make money so that we can feed ourselves and maybe have a little fun if our end is already written before the beginning has even begun? Why must all good things come to an end? What’s the point of the end?

I asked this question of Alejandro and he didn’t have an answer that I could accept. That’s ok. I don’t think anyone has found the answer to this question – at least not completely. Some may say it is the middle of the story that makes the end meaningful. I cannot deny that living a life masks the pointlessness of the end a little bit, but I still do not understand the point of death.

Why does there have to be a point?