My Grandpa came to visit me today. He is still the wisest man I know. I hope I will be like him when I am his age. Wouldn’t it be something if I kept writing My Book of Days past sixty? Over 50 years of my life written down.
I just read the introduction in my new Les Miserables book. Victor Hugo finished writing the book of his life when he was sixty. I’m 17 and I think Challenger’s Deep is the book of my life.
What will all these days mean to me when I’m sixty? I’m almost done with my fourth Book of Days. Is any of this important?
My life has hardly begun.
But nevertheless, it has begun. I’m here. I am on this earth, and I can’t leave. I have to be here. I often think if I would be a different person if I were born into another family and another environment. But now that I think about it, it is stupid to think that way. This is the only life I’ve ever known. God gave me this life. I don’t have a choice. I am me, whoever I am.
I guess that is ultimately up to me to decide. God gave me free will, but in that free will he gave me characteristics of who he created me to be. He has a will, but it is up to me to live up to it.
Have I figured myself out yet? I believe I have. I know I have. The people I’ve come in contact with know that I’m a person who loves Jesus, loves the theater, tells stupid jokes, is inspired by Les Miserables, and sees himself as something valuable in the future. I am a person with hope. I person with joy. This is my duty. I can’t be anyone else. I guess the beautiful thing is, I like who I am. I like hanging out with me. I like who I have to be and need to be for other people.
This could actually be fun.