The ocean is a stunning shade of turquoise this morning, so I pull up a chair and a tray table beside the window to write, so that I may glance up and marvel at the beauty, tranquility, and evolution of the view whenever I get stuck on a particular thought or how to work out a line’s phrasing. I’m not really sure yet where I’m headed yet with this one, just felt the draw to the New and Post buttons today, so maybe something will come of it. I don’t really know yet.

I turned thirty-five last month amid a particularly colorful October. It has made me happy to see the leaves so stubborn in holding onto their hues of yellow, orange, and red for so long this season. I am not taking their extended flamboyance for granted and have been enjoying walks and drives to best appreciate their limited run.

This decade has been my favorite, so far. It has gifted me with an increasingly philosophical state of mind which reaps rewards of wonder and enlightenment. I feed my intellectual curiosity with books that probably have the librarians scratching their heads as they try to sort out just what sort of creature the lady in the purple jacket is. If they were to ask me, I’d give them an honest answer, which is that I’m not entirely sure and I may never really be, but that I am content in that lack of a definition. It gives me a liberating sense of freedom to be able to morph, develop, and adapt as I must.

These days, I feel the urge to pause and reflect on the present moment more often and to recognize both the fleetingness and potential of the present. I accept that each moment I experience, each interaction, conversation, laugh, argument, misstep, sensation, existential inquiry, and daydream, is a piece of my life and that life is more enjoyable with patience and communication, and with the absence of assuming that you know anyone’s true thoughts, outside of your own.

Since my visit to the American Museum of Natural History, last month, I have been reading the personal writings of Cultural Anthropologist and Ethnologist, Margaret Mead, who worked studying the lives, social structures, languages, practices, customs, and cultures of people living among societies in the Pacific Islands between 1925 and 1975. Reading her Letters from the Field and her autobiography, Blackberry Winter: My Earlier Years, has taken me on an adventure back in time, across oceans and continents, offering lessons in patience and insight into the practice of observation without interference.

Ms. Mead’s experiences have illustrated to me that common sense, success, decency, and respect are all relative to the culture in which you are raised. One commonality I have noticed, however, is that each culture has customs and practices for deriving existential meaning from something greater than oneself. It may present as magic or trance dancing or channeling sprits through inanimate objects. It may be through elaborate rituals around birth, puberty, marriage, and death. In the case of cultures which are more akin to the one I was raised in, it may be through God, the concept of faith, or through science in varying forms. We all seem to crave a why, some sort of reasoning or explanation to punctuate our being here as a part of it all.

Over the summer, I watched a movie with my family called The Life of Chuck, a film based on a novella written by Stephen King which offers a mind bending and creative approach to recognizing moments of meaning across the span of one person’s life and how every moment that they experience takes on a trajectory of its own, with potential for unique meaning in its own rite once stored in the subconscious mind.

Still with me?

The film is laid out in non sequential chapters and is an emotional, nostalgic adventure with a surprising but comprehensible, uplifting why, simple and beautiful. The story has a bit of reality, a bit of science fiction, and a lot of heart. It reminds the viewer of the precarious state of living, and how one person can be a most incredible thing in and of oneself. I have seen the movie twice now and often think back to scenes from it that encourage me to be more present and to recognize the little things which may have big impacts someday, though perhaps not yet determined how.

I’m sorry if your heads are spinning. I know my Uncle Rob will read this and start going down the wormhole of Chuck Krantz’s life and subconscious multitudes once more, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.

All this to say, I am happy. I am grateful for all the experiences up until now, and I look forward to all that is to come. My collection of whys is growing as I discover new compartments within myself, as my loved ones bring new life into the world, and as I get to reacquaint myself with memories and with new experiences.

I value every friend I have ever made whether they are still in the picture or not, thankful for those relationships that were a piece of the day to look forward to. I am grateful for every member of my family, whether gone, present, or impending. I savor moments of joy and learn from moments of regret, shame, and sadness for the lessons they have delivered.

These countless relationships and moments all composite into one woman with more silver strands at her temples than last year, a few more freckles, some faintly forming wrinkles, and a curious mind. I can face a changing reflection in the mirror with the comfort of knowing that there is much more to me than meets the eye and that life only gets more and more beautiful and meaningful with every new year in the books.