Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column reminding you that the tale goes on and on.The cast of characters may change, the lights may dim and rise and the curtains will obscure the stage between acts, but the show marches forward. You can sit in the audience, reading the program, or you can step into the light, clear your throat and orchestrate your own denouement.You see, many of you are under the mistaken impression that this here column is “us.” It is not. It is all of us. Children often ask us what we do, what is our job?We’re quite lucky, we tell them. We get paid to say the things everyone else is afraid to say. They could say them, we explain, they just don’t know it; the world has put a filter between their thoughts and tongue under the fallacious premise that we can only get along if we’re all nice (and we skipped school the day those filters got handed out). We make it easier for people to say the things they know they should say; it’s the happy birthdays, the “I love you’s,” the kudos and thanks-a-millions. We shout the reasons that it’s good to be alive, especially here in this heaven we call Summit Up Land. We make them remember what it’s like to be like you, children, to wonder and dream and never give up hope that you can fix what’s wrong with the world. We point out the things they would see, if life and work and all the troubles of each weren’t blinding us to the things we should be laughing at, instead of angry. We find the humor when everyone is tired of crying, and the sadness that none of us can avoid, try as we might.We won’t be able to do it forever, we tell the children. But that’s OK because, as we said, it’s in all of us, and there are more of “us” waiting in the wings, ready to pick up the crayons and pens and color your day, column by column by column.”What will you do then?” the children ask. “Where will you go?”(And this is the hard part, because they never understand.) Back to basics, we tell them, to that place where light meets water, where earth and wind mark time like dancing sisters, melody to harmony. We will strain and sweat, and let our imagination take up the slack for our weary heart. Sometimes, we tell the children, the answers to the hardest questions don’t come until you stop asking them.***It’s Sunday, or the day we use as an excuse to say thanks for humoring us. Tell us your tale at firstname.lastname@example.org, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just give excuses about how it’s not very good, it’s actually the sequel of a re-make that was loosely based on a book that’s better anyway on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237.We’re out, squinting in the floodlights, looking for a safe place to jump off this stage …
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