I am beginning to think that life has no resolutions. We hold the dissonant chord, on and on for twenty years, fifty years, a lifetime, and finally with our last breath we let go, we resolve the song.
There are certain days where the decisions I make alter who I am even more than what I do: what future do I want, and what version of myself? But no matter how I choose to resolve the choice, still another dissonance will remain behind or above or under that choice. Because there are some notes I can’t let go of, some tensions that rise and do not fall: that I must write no matter how much it can torture me, that I must fall prey to Solomon’s vanities without growing hopeless or harboring acedia.
Teach me to appreciate dissonance and to see beauty in the small paradoxes and frictions of living.