When my children were small "why" was a word which cropped all the time at the beginning of sentences. "Why" would often proceed moments of amusement and laughter when I was forced to explain all sorts of weird and wonderful topics.
When I was a teenager, and I wondered how the world worked and was searching for those answers I often ask myself "why" questions. More often than not, I couldn't come up with answers about religion or existence or even about algebra but, eventually, I developed my own thoughts on life and accepted this life for what it is. I learnt that when it comes to philosophy, you don't always have to have the answer but sometimes contemplating issues give you a better perspective and appreciation of life.
Now, as I move through middle-age towards inevitable death, I wonder "Why" my life is turning out as it is.
I have some answers to some of my questions and for others, I don't. Those unanswered questions are difficult to lay to rest.
But somehow I must let them go. Hopefully, writing will be my cure.
