Life's like a mixed fruit basket. You find one on your doorstep one day. And the next. And the next. Some days it's the same old, same old. Some days you find all your most hated foods in the world staring up at you. And sometimes, you don't even take off the wrapping. You just stare at. And stare at it. And stare at it some more, until you see the rising sun peaking up over the horizon, a new fruit basket waiting on the porch just waiting to be opened, and the basket you're holding suddenly feel empty. And sometimes, you get such a good basket, that even after the day is over, you keep the empty basket. You stuff it into a dark, dank closet. But you never forget it. And from that day forward, you compare that empty basket with all the baskets you receive afterward. And when all the other really good days have come and gone, you put those baskets in with the first empty basket. And eventually all you want is for those old baskets to come back. You yearn for their return, for just a glimpse, for just a passing breeze of their nostalgic aroma to crowd your senses. Sometimes you go back into the closet, looking for answers, wishing for time to be turned backward. But the answer isn't in our old baskets, which one was our best, or even when another good one is coming. Why not just look down the street, and find the one who delivered the basket. The one who delivers it everyday. He has the answers.