STRUNG OUT!

Like most of us, I can’t sing. But I don’t let that stop me. Whenever I’m driving, I’m singing. My car is my studio. That’s where I let loose and hope someone somewhere can hear. Something somewhere is listening.

I think that we’re all hoping sometimes that someone is listening, that someone hears us, even if we aren't speaking out loud, even if we aren't writing it all down. We’re hoping that someday, at the end of our life, we’ll be able to sit down with them and they can say, “Well, most of this was good, and most of this was bad.” And it’s not going to matter which one there was more of, because it was you and you were living it, breathing it, and saying it. Maybe at the end, we won’t look back at ourselves, then wonder how far up the ladder of life we climbed. We won’t wonder if we made it to the top or got as far as we could have. You’ll just see a long line strung out behind you, stretching as far as you can see. Hopefully you’ll look back at that line, turn to me, and say, “You see that? You see how far I traveled to get here? To get to NOW. That’s me back there.” Then I’ll look back there and see where my line crosses yours. I’ll say, “Yep, there’s where you saw me singing in the car.”

Then I’ll roll up my sleeves and pull in that line. I’ll get it tangled and I’ll wad it up and stick it in my pocket. I’d like to tell you that I would send you a smile, tip my hat, and walk off into the sunset. But I’ll probably just shrug. “That’s it I guess?”, my expression might say.

Because the point of it isn’t to go out with a pretend smile on your face. It’s just to go out knowing you have something worthwhile in your pocket, even if it is just a ball of string.