To the exclusion of everything else.

I’m puzzled. And enamored. All at the same time. By life. I call myself a lover. And a dreamer. A romantic idealist, too. And a spiritual free-thinker. And a political liberal. But still, I can’t figure it all out. Life. And why my fellow human beings choose the courses they choose. Like the Tsarnaev brothers. Young men. The ones that (presumably) planted bombs at the Boston Marathon. Why do people do what they do? Crazy things. Intended to kill and maim people. At random. In a crowd. People they don’t know. It’s almost as if they are doing it just for the hell of it. As a lark.  Gawdawful things like this happen. All over the world. Every day.  Things over which I have absolutely no control. Some of the stuff goes unreported, I’m sure. Just as well. I’d rather not know.  Instead, I try to get on with my life. In the pursuit of happiness. Mainly as a lover and dreamer. Pretending, if only for a moment, that bad stuff doesn’t happen. That life is beautiful. That I have ample reason to savor my precious moments. To the exclusion of everything else.  –Jim Broede