There is a game called race for the galaxy, a card game, where every turn is a gambit and a sacrifice. While I've only played this game a few times, I suspect it offers a keen insight into my every daily decision. Every day, I have choices, many, and in order to realize these opportunities, other sacrifices must be made. If I want to spend ten hours drawing, I cannot also spend ten hours playing guitar. If I sacrifice time going out with friends, I cannot read all I wished to read.
Sacrifice makes it sound somehow morbid, or a horrific truth. Like I'm shivving myself and stepping over lost opportunities as the paving stones to preferred ones. But you can't walk in every door, and explore every room - the manse of life is vast. Still, the perfectionist in me, the Christian in me, the sage and philosopher, the fighter and lover, the finder and the seeker, the sower and the reaper in me all ask whether the path I've chosen is the best path, the most right path, the most Christ-like path. It is a utilitarian internalization that is asking if this will bring the greatest good for the greatest quantity.
So while I sit munching on the harvest of my deeds, wondering what might have been if, instead of swiss chard, I'd sown rhubarb, instead of squash, pumpkin, instead of tomatoes, peppers.
Did I have time to plant more seeds? Did I water them each enough, or are these stunted plants? Harvesting life is none so clear, sometimes.
Should I probably be writing NaNo instead of this? Yes.
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