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Rated: E · Critique · Biographical · #1630666
A self analysis from birth to death

When I was ready to enter this world, I wandered the Creator's workshop, attempting to ascertain just what gifts might be bestowed on me. Would the celestial guide escort me to the 6'2", blond hair, blue eyed athletic section? Or maybe the artistic corner, where music and creativity danced across the sky. How about a gift of scientific comprehension! Maybe the long line at the end of the corridor, where knowledge of the law was being distributed might be my destiny. Impatience permeated my soul. Finally, the time had arrived. A heavenly disciple announced the awards. In all things physical, I should be Joe Everyman. My spirit would be endowed with humor, a kind and generous nature with a willingness to compromise. All these talents would serve me well unto my fellow man. But, as these aptitudes were ordinary among my peers, and each new creation was to be given one special prize, my ultimate reward was a keen intellect, with much capacity for growth and understanding. And so I was born to this life.
My early world was framed in discipline, education and family values. I sailed through school always the leader of the pack, racing along, yet never letting the competition overtake me, but only to nip at my heels. Yet, as maturity embraced me, my desire to be set apart from others diminished. No longer was achievement paramount. Nature had reduced my goals and expectations to what was easily attained. The years marched by. School was replaced by the military, soldiering quick-stepped into the corporate arena. Competition there was stiff; pretenders were keen to grind their heels on inferiors. I competed, with my loose guidelines, my own set of rules. The stricture of the financial markets, where I battled each day, surrendered many victories and numerous failures, marking my path from Wall Street to Main Street.
My personal life was patently normal. Family, friends and coworkers filled my days and nights with the pulse of everyday living. How many joyous events, how many tragedies were entries in the book of my life? I pushed my children just ever so slightly, petrified of those specters of achievement who had invited themselves into my world so many years before. But in the Maker's infinite plan, my offspring had collected their gifts and organized their priorities quite famously. And so, now in the twilight of my time, a life of expired passions point me toward a recollection of struggles won and lost, of quiet dreams unfulfilled. The manifestation of a new world order only confirmed the passing of the torch to those newly anointed souls who had wandered the halls of heaven in the same fashion as all of humankind.
The only thing now left is to choose is my epitaph. "The Easy Way" speaks volumes.

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