If you were asked to write about a single day in your life, which would it be? 

One solitary day in the whole of your lifespan.  

Think about that.  

Even at fifty, we’ve lived 18,250 days, not counting leap-years and time off for comas, frat parties and other consciousness-stealing activities along the way.

One single day.  Would it be a wedding day? The day you graduated college? The birth of a child? 

Or would it be a non-descript day like the one when, while you sat in the sun, you realized that life is a series of moments, each one precious. Or would it be the ordinary day that you looked into a stranger’s eyes and realized you and they were connected by the family of man?  Or would it be that summer day when you simply knew it was time to quit smoking and save your own life?  Or the day you remember seeing your widowed mother smile again after so long.

So many choices.  So many days. 

And once we start to think about what day we would describe, each one reminds us of another and the sheer number of choices is boggling.  So many experiences, emotions, actions and reactions.  So many relationships and duties, joyful moments and tears.  Memories too numerous to catalogue.  Too numerous to keep track of.

It’s a bit like surfing the internet.  One link leads to another, some interesting, some not; some thought-provoking, some not so much. But one leads to the next.  So many choices and nearly impossible to go back and try another path.  

Life is a series of years, months, days, moments…

Units of measure of something so precious as our personal stories, our lives.  

If you were asked to write about one day in your life, what day would it be? 

Is it possible to decide? 

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