I drove.  It seemed like hours, perhaps even days, all time lost to whichever song played rhythmically in my ears and the scenery flashing quickly in my eyes.  To what do I owe the pleasure of this solipsistic trice?

"I experienced an epiphany, a spiritual flash that would change the way I viewed myself."  So said Frank Maier, and so say I.  The essence of my life over these last several weeks precisely captures that sentiment.  From Jenny helping me to put my writing decision into perspective to realizing during a conversation with Drew that I had matured sexually to the understanding that I wanted to write for a career, my life of late has been one insight after another.  Then comes Wayne.

"What epiphany does Wayne represent?" you ask.

My skin kissed with the sun's warmth, I stepped out of my car at the designated meeting place and allowed my eyes to fill with endless clouds and sky.  Transiently absorbing nature's peaceful embrace, I stood briefly outside the doors with my hand resting lightly on the handle.  Then I breathed deeply… and entered.

I admitted here in my blog, and later admitted to Wayne personally, that I thought much of late about a handful of friends from long ago.  I also previously conversed with current acquaintances, telling them that there existed a list of people in my head — a list of friends from the past — that I should hunt down.  I had shared significant bonds with the people on that list, even if decades ago, and I welcomed the possibility of communicating with them.  Better yet, perhaps I could engage them once again in active friendship.

Why had I not acted upon that thought?  My internal list of names developed over the course of weeks.  Why had I not done something before now?

I sat across from him at the restaurant, admitting to myself that Wayne represented a significant event in my life.  Absently sipping at my drink, I discovered myself time and again staring in awe and bewilderment at the man before me.  My mind danced cyclically like a repetitive salsa, torn between the reality with which I was presented and the blindingly telltale enlightenment that pressed down on my being, flailing wildly at my soul with a fervor that could not be resisted.

These times matter.  These people matter.  I even have a motto: "I do not intend to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death."  To wit: I previously gave lip service to a common axiom — life is to be lived.

Was I living by that assumption — that belief?  Throughout the years preceding my rapidly approaching 35th birthday, I claimed to live by the simple premise that now is the only thing one can control directly.  I strove to adhere to this realistic dogma.  But had I succeeded in that endeavor?

We arrived at his house safely and speedily.  I parked carefully, but in that haphazard way we tell ourselves is equivalent to conscientious intent.  The visit continued with reminiscences galore and introductions to family.  Bewildered by the dazzlingly quick passage of time, we talked and visited and visited and talked.  I was inundated by smells and sights and sounds and sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.

The question…  No, the answer to the question is a thought which changed my whole outlook, and that is an epiphany.

There is no time to tarry; there is no time to waste.  As I cursorily touched upon in previous posts, the point I was trying to make is clear.

Always make now the most precious time for it will never come again.  Now, this moment in which we all live, the only moment of which we can be fully aware, is the only time that matters.  You cannot change what has happened and you cannot change what will happen.  The past is written while the future does not exist.  Neither you nor I can change either of them.

What we can change is now, the moment measured by our every breath, every blink, and every sensation.  This is the time in which we live.  Endless parades of yesterdays cannot be changed.  We view them with joy or disdain, but view them is all we can do.  Those moments are committed to history and memory alone.  No option avails itself to us that would permit all of our tomorrows to be planned and executed to our liking.  Always the promise that never delivers, tomorrow has never arrived in my lifetime.  Now, on the other hand, is always with me.

As far back as I can remember, I've been told to plan for tomorrow.  Was I ever told about today?

We talked.  Oh, how we talked.  Tell me of your life.  Tell me why you are who you are.  Tell me all.  Appetites sated on fairs of common quality, we talked.  The world spiraled around us, tempting us always with but one more minute, one more tale.

Planning and preparation are the pinnacle of what can affect tomorrow.  They each are nothing more than aspects of today.  Is that how the now is to be expended?  On arrangements for a time which will never come?  Have you seen a tomorrow?  Have you solidified in your mind the colors, textures, smells, sights and sounds of a tomorrow promised yet never delivered?  Can you mark in time a specific moment when all other occasions became invisible to you, including the present and the past, leaving you in a sliver of your life defined only as tomorrow?

Neither can I.  You can be anything and anywhere you want, but you can only be when you are at this very moment.  There are no other options.

This reunion of spirits both wild and free quenches my thirst for living.  Darkness has drawn nigh, the day folding in on itself, closing, preparing to slumber.  I must go for life carries on.  What remains of this day is priceless and immeasurable.  It is the ancient heart of life beating deeply within me and around me, the rhythm of its essence flowing over me and through me.  This surely is how life must be lived.  I prepared to depart.

I have crammed a great many disparate experiences into my life thus far.  Is that the point?  Of course not.  It's about finding passions and enjoying them; it's about grabbing on to life unencumbered by worry.  Life is to be lived.

I realized then that my epiphany was reconfirmation of that which I had always held so dear.  It was a reminder to me that all good things end.  We can either express our goodbyes as lamentations for opportunities lost, or as fond memories.  It was an aide-mémoire of my own universal truth: have no regrets.

If Wayne had not contacted me, would I have acted on the list in my head?  Would I eventually have contacted him?  Or, like we humans are so apt to do, would it have remained a plan, never making the transition into action?

Living — real living — is an act of sheer will.  It is a conscious decision each and every moment, every now.  It is the individual's role to find out what it is that we are truly passionate for, and devote ourselves to it.  We must decide with every breath that we will live and enjoy life, that we will explore the world around us, and that we will take each opportunity offered to find happiness.  While part of living is to plan for our tomorrows, we cannot devote ourselves to that pursuit without sacrificing the life we have today — and tomorrow is never promised.

This epiphany has given me clarity and a certain perspective that I previously lacked.  Nothing can be as equally promising as what we do right now in this moment.  No one can enrich my life as I can, but I must act to make that a reality.  I am already fortunate in so many ways, and I am happy simply to be alive.  I must never allow this moment to slip out of my grasp with regret.  I must never assume that time for living has been promised to me in some way.  The only time I have is the now in which I live, and that is the only time I control.  I must make the most of it.

We embraced like brothers, holding each other dearly, the strength of our companionship immeasurable in this place and time.  With the night fully upon us and the cool breeze echoing our wistful goodbye, nothing compared with the joy of seeing him again after so many years.  Our reunion must stand for something, must represent the start — the restart of a friendship both ancient and new.  Opportunities like this elude most people, lost in the shuffle of scurrying to and fro, abandoned to a time which may never come.  Living is not just surviving and planning.  It must be more than that lest we find ourselves traversing the years of life by rote action alone.  I do not wish only to get through the journey; I wish to enjoy it.  It is up to me to make that happen.  Seeing him again is proof of that.