Various quotes wind up on my bulletin board, at eye level. They come and they go. This one has stayed longer than most. It's from Elizabeth Kaye's "Mid-Life." I usually just glance at the last line; the rest I know from practice.
And while I have always assumed that when I reached mid-life, I would not want to think about my own mortality, I find I want to think about it now. I want to because I'm one more person who elevated procrastination and sloth into an art by sheer dint of practice. Yet these days I have no patience with sloth, and I don't procrastinate much, and I try not to waste time. My life has improved accordingly. I'm not surprised. I've always been one of those people who does better on a deadline.
And though I still make mistakes, I am less inclinded to delude myself about their cost. I no longer expect things to make sense. But that does not mean there is no magic. It does not mean there is no hope.
It simply means that each of us has reason to be wishful and frightened, aspiring and flawed.
And it means that to the degree that we are lost, it is on the same ocean, in the same night.