I sneezed, a most prodigious sneeze that made one dog look up, while the other chased squirrels in her dreams. I looked around the room and dove into thought, wondering if I could find meaning or a turn of a phrase that would shift my musing from the mundane into the eternal. It didn’t come just that moment — celestial insights lay somewhere beyond my mind’s eye, out of my metaphorical grasp.
I wanted to say once and for all what everything means. In all likelihood, it’s not for any of us to know fully. We can find our own purpose, we can decide on a meaning, but I can’t say for certain what anyone else’s purpose might be, and I can’t tell you what any of it means for you.
That’s up to you — and isn’t that thought powerful? Scary, yes, but think of it: Your fate is in your hands for you to understand and fulfill. And maybe that’s the celestial insight I was reaching for.
No one else is in your soul or your body or your mind, so only you can say your purpose with any certainty.
What does that mean in the grand scheme of things? It’s only a name we have given this particular day, to differentiate it from any other day in history. Today is not August 15, 1947, nor is it April 17, 1522, but significant things did happen on those days, too. I couldn’t tell you what those significant things are, but to the people who were wrapped up in those happenings, it was important.
That’s how I know lives will be affected today, because as we pass from here to there, lives change every day. Perhaps it’s your turn or my turn — perhaps my writing this passage, or your reading it, will be the catalyst for a slight change in perspective that will lead to a breakthrough. Maybe it will be that intentional, or maybe not intentional at all, but this very day lives will change all over the world.
Couples will conceive babies, babies will be born, loved ones will die, marriages will begin and end, jobs will start, folks will retire — so many ways that January 30, 2025, will be remembered for better or for worse.
Here in the hour before sunrise, the day seems to throb with potential. What will this day bring — something new or same old same old? Nothing special or something unforgettable? As much as you can, try to make it memorable, knowing on the other hand that in a world of billions, it’s just as likely that someone else will push this day over into history — personal history or world history.
Just remember to live it like it’s once in a lifetime, because we assigned it the name of Thursday, January 30, 2025, because this day is now and will never come again.
A friend shared an old video featuring the brilliant novelist Kurt Vonnegut as he speaks to an audience late in life.
“When you get to be my age, you start asking your kids what life is all about. And I asked my son Mark Vonnegut, so named in honor of Mark Twain, what life was all about. He’s a pediatrician, and he gave what I think is a very good answer. He said, “We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is,” so I tell you that. I want to say, too, that no matter how corrupt our government and corporations and Wall Street and news media may yet become, the music will still be perfectly wonderful. And if I ever die, God forbid, I want this for my epitaph: ‘The only proof he ever needed of the existence of God was music.’”
I love what Mark Vonnegut said. We are, indeed, here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.
And in the years since Kurt Vonnegut made his remarks — I’m not sure when that was, but he died in 2007 — our government and corporations and Wall Street and the news media have, indeed, grown even more corrupt than anyone could have imagined at the time. (And if you think your side of the political aisle or your big corporation or your news source isn’t corrupt, you have not been paying attention at all.)
Still, he leaves room for hope, because he believes in a good and loving God. We hear the proof every day in the music.
I was blessed to grow up in a family that valued music. My dad cranked up his big band records every Saturday morning. Especially in our teenage years, there were plenty of LPs under the Christmas tree every year. All three boys had our own stereo systems in addition to the one in the living room.
The only genre that didn’t get respect was opera, and not that we didn’t try. It’s just that whenever they heard an earnest tenor or a sincere soprano, my father and mother would burst into hysterical laughter. They just had a hard time taking it seriously.
But I even grew to enjoy some of that music, thanks to a life partner who loved the Three Tenors. Depending on the mood, I can sink my ears into bluegrass, pop, classical, country, soul, blues, big band (of course) and all the other ways that the notes are combined.
I resist writing about government and corporations and Wall Street and news media in this space, and when I yield to the impulse, I often pay for it in the comments from people I respect, who otherwise seemed to respect me, full of disappointment or condescension or downright hate. We live in a world that doesn’t have much use for love, tolerance or understanding in certain arenas.
One thing is constant, though: No matter how nasty it all gets, the music will still be wonderful. And so, I thank God.
