I wonder if Charles Dickens ever realized he was starting "A Tale of Two Cities" with what would turn out to be one of the greatest cliches of all time.

<em>"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."</em>

I wonder if Dickens realized when his book was published in 1859 that people would still be reading it more than 150 years later, or that it would be atop the list of all-time best sellers with more than 200 million copies sold.

I even wonder if he realized his name would become a term to describe lively, rambunctious children, but that's off topic and we won't discuss that any further -- at least for now.

<a href="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/whether-its-the-best-of-times-or-the-worst-of-times-its-the-only-time-weve-got-20101026-1280x1024.png"><img class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-1621" title="whether-its-the-best-of-times-or-the-worst-of-times-its-the-only-time-weve-got-20101026-1280x1024" src="http://mikerappaport.net/onevoice/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/whether-its-the-best-of-times-or-the-worst-of-times-its-the-only-time-weve-got-20101026-1280x1024-300x240.png" alt="" width="300" height="240" /></a>But what is it about that phrase? How can something be the best of times and the worst of times, all at the same time?

There are people in this world who matter very much to me -- family and friends -- who I'm sure would look at 2012 from very different perspectives. I'm pretty sure my daughter Pauline, who had her second child in November, would consider the last four or five months to be pretty close to the best of times. Just as I'm sure that one of my friends, who can remain anonymous for the purpose of this narrative, would look at mounting medical bills and declining health for someone he loves and tell you that 2012 wasn't a particularly wonderful year.

And then there are those who have both wonder and despair, if not at the same time at least in the same general time frame.

In January 1998, in the middle of the five most wonderful years of my career, I was working as a newspaper columnist. In an effort to find something offbeat, I went for a walk in downtown Ontario, Calif., and watched people who were essentially just in the process of living their lives.

I saw a man looking in a pawnshop window, another man eating lunch with his son, a mother taking her two children to a doctor's appointment and a homeless woman in a doorway with her dog.

This was the way I finished the column that appeared the next day.

<em>"Every picture may tell a story,, but it's often tough to know exactly what that story is.</em>

<em>"A homeless woman and her dog. A man and his son. Two teenagers sharing music. A mother and her children. A man in a pawn shop.</em>

<em>"They all had two things in common. I saw them all on one lunchtime walk, and none of them were intent on making news. They were living their lives, going about their business, and somehow I understood.</em>

<em>"We all have the same 168 hours in a week. The only thing that separates us is how we choose to spend them.</em>

<em>"I don't know if these are the best of times, but I know one thing.</em>

<em>"They're the only times we've got."</em>

Fourteen years later, I might have a slightly different way of saying it.

I don't know if these are the best of times, but I know one thing.

All we can do is make the best of the times we've got.

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