As I stood watching him hunt for whatever it was he had lost, I saw him stoop down and pick the thing up, and stand up and stretch his arms skyward in a cheer as if he had just discovered gold.

It was a beautiful day. Easter Sunday afternoon. A wonderful day to do just about anything, but on this particular day, this particular man decided to sail a large white paper airplane. And he was doing it all alone.

His airplane had a wing span of about three feet. It was made of Styrofoam material, light enough to provide a perfect sail in just the right kind of wind.

As I watched him, and his plane, I realized how much joy it gave him (and me) just to watch it sail. For one thing (we) didn't know where it would go, where it would land, or "if" it would land.

The joy of watching the plane sail was short lived, but whenever it landed (we) knew that it would be just moments before it sailed again, and again, and again.

For me, life has been a series of sails. Sometimes in gentle winds and often in rough ones.

But the sheer exhilaration of launching my sail throughout my life, has been worth every rough landing, every skid mark, every bit of chipped paint, and every bit of damaged wing. For each time I landed, I would have the rare opportunity to relaunch myself back into the blue where I longed to be. And in the process, I thrilled with every new sail.

Looking back (and forward) I realize that the joy in living is to relaunch our sails and glide with each wind we encounter. To do anything else would be to miss the exhilaration and thrills life has to offer.