I don’t write like I should. I love to write, but the excuse of “not having enough time” always seems to come up. I have decided that that just doesn’t seem to cut it anymore. I’m starting this on a Friday night. It is currently 6:51 PM. I am sitting on my couch, reading a book, and suddenly became ~inspired~ to write about something that has been on my mind a while.

With the recent tragedy in my community, and other more personal issues that have passed me in the last few months, or, scratch that, the last few years, I have come around to one unanswerable, universal question: what is life?

I found myself asking a close childhood friend this question after he shared the news of the recent suicide of our neighbor, friend, and bus buddy all throughout grade school. I was shocked. Sam was the most happy-go-lucky kid I had ever met in my life. He always was the class clown, constantly making everyone on bus 670 laugh everyday. Even as I am sitting here right now, I cannot believe this reality. He was a light in this world for all of us, and he will be dearly missed by everyone he touched in his life. At the ripe age of 16, his future was bright, but no one knows what is really going on in a person’s life behind closed doors.