As long as we are alive, we never go hungry. At the start of any given day, we begin at the edge of a path. We are flanked on both sides by grapevines, as if we find ourselves between the green-leaved, grape-growing rows in a vineyard. Each grapevine plant is an hour; each cluster of grapes a handful of minutes. How we pick these, how we scoff them down or savor them, how we seek them and how we share them, all determine our days.
Some people race through the rows, picking randomly and throwing the grapes into their bucket, smushing the grapes and leaving behind purple smears on their hands and faces. When they go to wipe off the sweat from their brows, the stains slip into their eyes and blind them; they forget their past accomplishments, how many grapes they’ve gathered so far, or how many they’ve forgotten. Other people meander slowly, feeling the sun on their shoulders and are irritated by the heat, swapping away at flies that have caught up with them. Still others progress at a steady pace, looking forward in expectation, gazing back in satisfaction, their eyes and mind gauging the efficiency of their pacing. Some people seek the windows through the screens of grape leaves, getting glimpses of the life beyond their row, even taking a moment to reach through the gnarled branches and thick leaves in order to touch someone else’s hand, someone who is working in the neighboring row. Some even pause to press their faces onto the border, exchanging kisses and promises, feeding each other fruits of their labor. But others cannot lift—or even accept—the weight of their burden, and throw their basket away; they trudge purposelessly down their row, thinking they are living their own lives and never realizing the wonders (the windows, the connections, the emotions, the successes) that they are missing by denouncing the obligations of their lives.
Don’t worry if you haven’t picked enough, if the grapes were not ripe, or if it had rained and you slipped along the way. You will make mistakes, but you will learn from them; tomorrow you will be faster, or more skilled, or know what to look for. Tomorrow there will be more grapes to pick. But remember: no vineyard is endless. And in this vineyard, the grapevines are positioned so high that you cannot see above the rows. You continue on your way, in a tunnel of grape leaves or time, and you do not know where your next step will take you or which row will be your last.
Cherish every row as if it were indeed your last. Savor every grape as if it is the nectar of your death. And know in your heart you are doing what is true—because, one day, you’ll be right.
"Angreek87"
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