Today I laughed.  I laughed a lot.  I have not laughed so much in a few days.  Perhaps real human interaction is necessary for real laughter.  It felt cathartic.  I never knew it could be so cathartic.  

Laughter is like alcohol, tea, and essentially everything and every other phenomenon, you learn to appreciate it most in smaller quantities–or perhaps, the right quantity.  Just like in economics, there is an equilibrium or steady state of maximum utility.  Just like in calculus, there is a critical point or point of inflection where the maximum occurs.  

There are some periods in my life when I laugh too much.  There was too much laughter.  If you associate laughter with happiness, you can say that there was too much happiness.  There was too much happiness for me to meaningfully appreciate each moment.  Sometimes, we need a slower pace of life in order to savor every bite.  


Bittersweet beginnings, bittersweet endings

Today is another day, a new start.

I have returned to my familiar work surrounding, but you can also say that it is once again a new surrounding for me.  Perhaps this can be called another beginning.  All beginnings have an ending.  So, is this a beginning or an ending?

We ask questions of whether life events and happenings are beginnings or endings because we are concerned with whether we are about to go through or have lived through a pivotal point of our lives.  That is how we see our lives and organize our life stories–using milestones and life-changing moments as points of reference.  It is the choices that we make, whether out of our free will or not, when we come to these major forks in the road that come to define our lives.

After all, are these so-called pivotal moments really as important as we perceive them to be?

Perhaps they are not.  Perhaps every decision and choice that you make, every day in your life is equally important.  Perhaps, at these so-called critical points, it is the aggregate build-up of each and every decision in the past that determines the journey you choose at the fork.

Sitting in bed

Someone once told me that he always kept his room spot clean because he never felt at home, a castaway in America.  When I look around and see how messy my room is, I wonder: is it because I feel so at home here?

Today, I watched a video clip about a 22-year-old Korean boy who ran away from his orphanage when he was five and has lived alone all of these years.  He sold small merchandise on the streets and slept in stairwells or public toilets.

What is home?

I recently finished an autobiographical book by an ex-CIA officer.  At the tender age of 16, he left his home in rural Georgia to journey into the greater world.  His parents always supported his pursuits.

In The Crazed, by Ha Jin, the professor who arguably either loses or frees his mind after a stroke urged the protagonist, his expecting son-in-law, to rescue his only daughter from the degenerate China by fleeing the country.  He saw hope in the spacious lands of Canada.

What is it about certain places that draw certain people, or draw a lot of people?

Sipping coffee

I am sitting here, sipping coffee at a Cosi.
People come in and out.  Does everyone have a purpose here?

Some appear to be just waiting, like me.
Waiting for what?
I oft ask myself the same question.

The rainy weather is ironically sobering.

Life itself is not attractive enough for people to be sufficiently awake without the assistance of caffeine.