This year, I will turn 42 on 4/2 in the year 2014. (And there is a rumor that I was delivered by the Easter bunny at 4:20 AM, but I can’t confirm that part — well, I WAS born on the morning of Easter Sunday, but I’m not sure about the exact time). Every place I’ve ever lived and every phone number I’ve ever had (including my current one) has had an abundance of 4s and 2s. (The house I just moved into last month, the first house I’ve ever actually owned, oddly, doesn’t have a single 4 or 2 in its address.).
What does all of this mean? I have no idea, but I like the idea of all of these converging in what could likely be the halfway point in my life. I’ve also been mulling over 2014 — what do I want this year to be? I’ve had years of words, of wanderlust, of learning, of writing, of poetry, of books. This year? I didn’t know and I didn’t know and I still didn’t know.
But then the idea of 42 collided into other things. Hitchhiker’s Guide. Alice in Wonderland. Tony Stark. Me. Life. The Universe. Everything. The Gutenberg Bible. Juliet’s long sleep. The Hunting of the Snark. Answers. And, perhaps most importantly, questions. So this year shall be the year of 42. What exactly does that mean? I have no idea. The question, the exploration, the asking, is what matters.
I will set a goal to write 420,000 words this year. That comes out to 1400 words per day (assuming that I write 300 days this year). That’s not so many words, but I’d like them to be good words, in the end. Words that mean something.
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many things.”
I’ll keep you posted.
Kiss kiss bang bang, s.