Sometimes life is just about living.

There’s a reason that a story, at least any good story, is made up of threads, each of them with a beginning, running along, intertwining with the other threads, but never quite connecting.  Threads wrap together, getting stronger, until there’s this big rope that could tie a pit bull to a tree or hang a man from the gallows.  Not all of these little threads are of the same length.  Each ends at its own specific time, when it’s supposed to, but because there are more threads, the rope, and the story, goes on.

Life is the same way.  Life is a whole bunch of threads, wrapped together.  We tell stories like this because it’s how we live, and sometimes, we’ve got to just let some threads end.

For those of you playing the home game, do me a favor.  Mark a win in my column.  I’m not going to give you all the details.  Chances are, you probably know them.  If you don’t, then it’s not really worth talking about, not now.  Of course, we all know that I can’t keep the threads of my life from becoming threads of my stories.  Neither can anyone else.  Someday, the details will be out there for everyone else to see.

Just for now, relax with the knowledge that I have never felt better about myself.  It could be that I’m just pumped up from a day of excitement, but I don’t think that’s it.  After all, most of that excitement was stuff that brought me down and made me question whether or not I’d make it at all.

Those of you who were worried about me, you were right to be.  You know what, though?  I found something in myself that I didn’t know was there.  I found a way not to let anything go, but to just let it end.

See, if I’d let go of a thread, then I wouldn’t be holding onto the rope.  That, I’ve still got.  That thread is just a little further down now that I’ve climbed past it.

Because sometimes, a rope is a lifeline.