Just because we’re alone in an absurd and meaningless universe doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.
Granted that’s not the optimistic life affirming sorta credo that This I Believe seems to favor, buts it’s all I’ve got to offer.
I didn’t always think this way. I was raised by devoutly religious parents who met their duty to raise me in their faith. That they were also loving and supportive lent credence to their beliefs. I perceived they clearly had my best interests at heart and, consequently, I had no reason to doubt anything I was taught about life and its meaning.
The doubts came later thanks to a tour of duty with the Army in Viet Nam. I left for that conflict a Kennedy democrat all ready to do for my country. A year later I returned disillusioned and doubtful. I felt betrayed by leaders I had trusted. I was forced first to reconsider my political beliefs and ultimately to question everything I believed. None it stood up to skeptical examination. I was left with only what was most self- evident. And, happily, that’s proved to be enough. I know right from wrong. I love my wife and kids and they reciprocate. Music and art enrich my life. Sunsets are beautiful; ice cream tastes good.
There’s not much solace in the little I believe. It’s life and life only. Its triumph and tragedy. Sometimes it’s almost unbearable sorrow and sometimes it’s a whole lotta fun. And it ends badly.
My friend Jorge is a huge Yankees fan. One of those few years that the Bronx Bombers didn’t win the World Series, he allowed how he was despondent but could get on. “I will comfort myself with art,” he said.
Brave words, my friend. Something to believe in.
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