Passage

Buddhism reminds us that all is impermanent; everything arises and passes away: your life, the human species, even something whose loss will really be mourned, like a beloved brewery that shared its largesse (and brew) on numerous birthday race occasions.

Tempus keeps on fugit-ting no matter (and also because of) what we do to hold onto the way things once were and never will be again.

But that doesn’t mean you ought not to embrace and honor all the fleeting moments you can and take as many opportunities as possible to enjoy them together as they relentlessly slip by.

And surely among the best ways to do so is via bicycle, especially on a perfectly dry and almost moonless mid-winter evening in the upper left-hand corner of the American map of the Northern Hemisphere.

Here’s what that can look like, for instance: 

You begin by circling counterclockwise—as befits this global hemisphere according to Lisa Simpson—down five or six floors of concrete to emerge at our fair city’s most picturesque outdoor waterfront nightclub where beers are consumed and skyscrapers conjectured about.

You then enhance the proceedings with help from Mother Nature (and Farmer Ito) a little farther along the way before crossing over water with abandon and arriving at the aforementioned brewery for the first of what will no doubt be many a last call before the final one sounds.

Afterwards, the sea itself beckons and you answer that beck by raising a cheery blaze to its shoreline which has the additional benefit of providing a shared focus and mutual hearth for a healthy dose of nonsense and an even healthier dose of cannabis gummy squares.

Hoo-ray.

I know this too shall pass—as it all will, ourselves included—but that, of course, is what makes it all so unique and wonderful.  

What’s wonderful, in short, is that it IS unique, despite its common recurrence and familiarity.  

Nothing lasts forever, but there’s forever in each lasting moment.