Books

I have been an avid reader ever since I could read, which, according to my mother, was around two years of age. My favorite genres, authors, and books-of-all-time have changed throughout the years of course, but I've gathered much information throughout the years. As I reflect on my life of what has become my life, I want to share something.

I speculated about my favorite part of the book. Is it the beginning, where your excitement for the adventures before you swells and reaches a peak? Perhaps it's the middle, where anything can, and most likely will, happen. Maybe it's the climax, where authors wrap their arms around you and hold you tight until you read the word they want. My favorite part, however, is the ending. The ending can create a best-seller or destroy a once-cherished writer. It turns stories into legends, sifts through the pile of "eh" until it finds a wow.

I recently re-finished a series, the Obsidian Trilogy, which falls into the generally-general category of fantasy. Most fantasy books are hard to tell apart, especially from a non-fantasy fan. And as I read, I often wondered, "Why is this my third time reading the series?" The series was well-written, yes, but why did it stand out so much that I put aside books that I have been waiting to read even just once in order to re-re-read it? Then I came to the ending of the third books. And when I finished, my heart ached, soared, fell, leaped, cheered, and sighed. It tied everything together and left the reader satisfied. It was then that I realized why I liked the series.

I finished a book today, actually. The ending was surprising, and turned the book from something to get over with to something to appreciate. That, however, reveals its flaw. If the book is only mediocre until its end, then it might not be given its chance to be recognized. Still, the ending of the book, usually, makes it all worthwhile.

I just noticed now that I have started all my paragraphs with "I," which includes this one. Normally, I would not do such a thing, but this kind of reflection lures one into writing in such a way.

Well, farewell for now. This is The Shawnster, ending the post with a paragraph that does not start with "I."

Time

Today, as I watched the night go by, I thought about something. But before I get to that, let me reflect on something.

I, as an average human being, can change anything I choose. People, the things I touch, my environment, or anything else I choose. Especially now, in this time where a message can transverse the globe in a second, I can influence someone or some place thousands and thousands of miles away.

And all of these things I can do for better or worse. I can make a person's day better with a smile, even if I have never met them, or I could deface a store building with a can and ruin a day as well as a wall. I could post an insightful blog post or spread a terrifying, but false, rumor on the Internet.

With my confidence, influence, and technology, I can do and affect anything I choose.

Except time.

Even now, as I type these words, time moves on at the same rate, no matter what. If I run, if I just sit and thing, if I smile and talk or scowl and glare, time moves exactly the same. There is nothing I can do to slow it down or speed it up, save for a personal psychological point of view. But that's just perspective.

Eventually, time will claim us all. And there is nothing I can do.

I find that terrifying.