It has been a while since I allow myself the luxury of self-reflection. No grand excuses I could offer other than series of daily endeavor all adults must undertake, work.
I’m counting on days full of adventures ahead of me.
And to show how optimistic I am, I will let Paul Auster have the last word:
“In the end, each life is no more than the sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own lack of purpose.”