Life is often disappointing. Love fails, friends die, dreams come to nothing. And yet, the older I get, the more amazed and thankful I become that I have received the great gift of existing. Science teaches us that the mathematical chance of sentient life developing on earth, or any other planet, is stunningly small. Come to think of it, why does anything exist, rather than nothing at all?
jundanu 
Interesting: I can comment here, but I can’t click on “like” without a laborious login process in which I’m told I’ll receive an email with a new password that never arrives.
Anyway, please consider this response a “like.” I feel the same about existing, more so as I grow older.
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