The farther I drift from it, the more and more my youth, and many of the people in it, seem little more than a fever dream.

My father has been gone well over a decade, and, being the age he was when he already had three kids, it seems absurd that a man would be willing to work so hard in order that myself and my siblings could have so many nice things, and opportunities. But he was such a man, no matter how unreal he now seems at times. Ironically, because he worked so hard, and because I was the third of three, I scarcely appreciated those nice things, and opportunities, until they were gone, and I still reproach myself to this day, thinking of what I lost only because I’d always had it.

My father taught me many things, including how to pee standing up. Thus, I suppose, I have him to thank every time I use a urinal – however, it is an odd time, with pecker in hand, to think of one’s father. As always, context is key.

But back to the many illusions we live by…

We humans, faced with the knowledge of our inevitable disappearance, do our best to pretend it away, and when unable to do so, invent the most fantastical stories based on an absolute lack of information whatsoever. I suppose it keeps us entertained – or something – but as an alternative, we can simply embrace the wonder of not knowing something, and being completely unable to ever do so. There’s magic in the unknown, even if that unknown can be characterized as a great black void that we’re all slowly floating towards no matter what we try to do (or, more likely), not do about it.

All of which is to say, it can be the same level of spiritual quest to delve into dusty books for conceptions of an afterlife that fits with your worldview, or to sit quietly and gently pet the cat, or to stand at a urinal, pecker in hand, thankful that a now pile of dust once taught you how to do so.