I suppose that last night was one of those damn average nights at Rich O's. Better than I expected it to be, worse than I wanted it to be, the whole night just pretty much existed, and that was it.

I actually went there twice last night. I went after work, for about 30 seconds. Then I went back at 9:00 or so.

It's wasn't too crowded. I was able to grab a seat at the kiddie table fairly quickly. I had a Delirium Tremens (1394), and I talked to PlantDude, and I watched the door.

Fast-forward an hour or so, and the only thing that had changed was that I was having a new beer.

Grado Plato Strada San Felice

(draft) Not at all what I was expecting, as it was listed as "chestnut amber" on the beer board at Rich O's. Clear reddish amber in color. A pretty decent head that lasted throughout the glass. A faint fruity aroma - maybe cherries. Mouthfeel was medium-thick and clean. Flavor was very well-balanced. Malts and dark fruits and a tinge of hoppy bitterness. The finish was surprisingly fruity. A damn good beer.

Fast-forward another hour or so, and I was having a Diet Coke.

After I got home at 11:30, I sat on my swing for several hours. I began composing a journal entry in my head. It was a good entry, I thought, but it was also a familiar entry. Too familiar.

Turns out I'd already written the damn thing, back in early 2007. The original version of this entry was much more rambling than the version I wrote in my head last night, but this last part was exactly the same.

The question was Why is it better to love and lose, than to never love at all?

Because sometimes, like maybe once in a lifetime if you're lucky, you don't lose.

Because sometimes, you get to love and you get to win.

To love is to open yourself to that possibility. To surrender yourself to that possibility of happiness. To allow yourself to have hopes, and dreams, and to imagine just how incredibly wonderful life could be.

If only.

This time.

I could be loved back.

Then I would win.

That hope, that trumps everything else. All of the pain. All of the heartache. All of the disappointment and the depression and the suicidal thoughts.

Hope is what separates us from the animals. Hope is what makes us human. So we keep looking. Even after failure after dismal failure, we keep looking for hope.

And, when we find ourselves in love, we also find the hope that's been buried so deeply within us that we almost forgot it existed. Love unearths it, and breathes new live into it, and resurrects it.

It takes over.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing else exists.

We become hope.

And I can't think of a loftier goal.

Someday, I hope to love and win.