Proof that I lived.

Reviewing one’s life. To determine significance. It’s a real challenge. Maybe everyone. Should be required. To write a memoir. Or better yet. A novel. About one’s life. Indeed, that would be significant. To put it all in a meaningful context. Embellished. To make for wishful thinking. Room for dreams. That become fulfilled. Imaginatively. Really. That’s what it takes. To put one’s life in proper perspective. Otherwise. One lives. And dies. Without significance. I am obligated. To take the meaningless stuff of life. And to practice my craft. By giving it all. True meaning. Proof. That I lived. As a romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer, too. --Jim Broede