Some days I look around at the formidable downtown buildings and think about how fragile and temporary they really are. They won’t be there forever; one good earthquake would bring them down. Also, I’ve lived long enough to see building constructed and later destroyed when they outlasted their usefulness. The whole structure of civilization — the cars, the freeways and yes, the buildings — seem so solid but it’s all an illusion. Everything is temporary. Even ourselves. The literal and metaphorical concreteness of city life just adds to the delusion of ourselves as permanent. As much as I like to think of myself as eternal, it’s really against all odds that I could continue to exist post-mortum in any sort of way. Like many, I hold onto a slim glimmer of hope that continued existence could be. In the meantime, I rue the shortness of my amazing, wonderful life. I often say I wish I could live a thousand years — there’s so much I want to learn and do. It’s impossible to cram it all in the (hopefully) 80 or 90 years I’ll have (I’m hoping for 100). It’ll never be enough. I want so much and life is so ephemeral.