But something, somehow, had made all these paths converge. You couldn't find it on a checklist, or work it into the equation. It just happened.

Outside, the ocean was crashing, waves hitting sand, then pulling back to sea. I thought of everything being washed away, again and again. We make such messes in this life, both accidentally and on purpose. But wiping the surface clean doesn't really make anything neater. It just masks what is below. It's only when you really dig down deep, go underground, that you can see who you really are.

The true story...is the realization that no time in your life is ever perfect, that even the best memories have cracks you might not see.

It all depends on how you choose to live it. It's like forever, always changing.

Events conspired to bring you back to where you'd been. It was what you did then that made all the difference: it was all about potential.

Pretend to be a delinquent?" I asked clarifying. "You can do it," Dave advised me. "Just don't smile, and try to look like you're considering stealing something.

How it felt to have the world moving beneath me, a hand gripping mine, knowing if I fell, at least I wouldn't do it alone.