When I entered the room, my sister, sitting at the table finishing her homework, chirped, “Did you like my drawing?” Turning with a carton of milk in hand and pouring myself a glass, I asked, “What?” “The one I put in your room two days ago,” she replied with an incredulous whimper in her voice. “Oh yes,” I replied, “I can’t wait to see it!” I walked into my room and the drawing sat atop my dresser, unnoticed and neglected. Crayola scribbles of red, blue and fluorescent green garishly whorled and danced in a fifth grader’s masterpiece.
As I traced the rough scrawls and broad loops, I realized the brevity of life. We spend our days fixated on the future. We are blinded by our career as a neurosurgeon or the Gatsby-esque mansion in Beverly
As I traced the rough scrawls and broad loops, I realized the brevity of life. We spend our days fixated on the future. We are blinded by our career as a neurosurgeon or the Gatsby-esque mansion in Beverly