So we beat on. Are there four more potent words – especially to a writer?

Beating. The heart beats. It goes, and goes, and goes, until it does not. We take it for granted, this gift called life. Until we almost lose it, as I once did. 

We beat on. We persevere. Time and again, we fight against momentum. We strive. We struggle. We climb. 
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. 

Time. And there’s the momentum with which we contend. We are, one way or the other, defined by yesterday. We embrace it, we defy it, we chase it, and we live in fear (and hope) that this very moment will soon be yesterday as well. 

For me, this struggle is especially apropos. It’s been eleven years, today, since by the grace of God I was allowed to break from one current which held me, though the greater momentum of time surely remains. 

I beat on, but never alone. (On my better days, I don’t even take this for granted.)

We beat on. Our boats upon the current. Together, we live in peace with the pulsating waves.