Counting
Got my second booster today. Felt almost a bit naughty since all my friends seem to have gotten theirs several weeks ago. It’s become a rite of passage, like losing a tooth, or a routine chore, like doing the laundry. And Covid, and its many variants, still occupies so much of our conversation. We get to mask, with our anxiety, the many other things we may be reluctant to talk about, the way I’m writing about the vaccine, when what I want to write about, even though it could be a little embarrassing, is time and love.
I have lost a lot of people in the last several weeks. A strong wind has been blowing through the trees. Each day brings the news of someone else’s passing. We are at that age, of course, though the news hits us differently when the child of a friend dies of an overdose, or when an acquaintance finally succumbs to a painful and debilitating illness.
Time and love. Forget about death and taxes. What we get is time and love. I was going to say that’s what we are given, but that raises the question of by whom or by what. Rather, a condition of life is that we get time and love, and I do think of both as a gift.
As I grow older each day seems more precious. Simultaneously, I am learning to pay attention, and not go crazy when I get stuck in traffic or try to reach Verizon by telephone. Instead ,I observe that there are things worth noticing, like the way the light streams through the window or that bird whose song I wish I recognized. I am learning to delight in small things. This is what I mean by love, not to be loved, though that is wonderful, but to give love, to take delight when I awake refreshed on those rare days when I have slept well, to eat ice cream, to realize that I love some people that I do not even like.
All these platitudes I have heard my whole life are beginning to sink in. The trite and the true. So, this morning I went to services for the last day of Passover. The irony of being an atheist who attends Sabbath services regularly is not lost on me. I went to say yizkor and mourn my dead, and weep and think about how lucky I am to have had and to have so many people in my life to love. I carry them with me for all the time I may have.
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Thanks to all who joined us at our Zoom Passover event. Great conversation. We will be announcing our next, we hope, in-person event soon. And keep those submissions coming in.
Got my second booster today. Felt almost a bit naughty since all my friends seem to have gotten theirs several weeks ago. It’s become a rite of passage, like losing a tooth, or a routine chore, like doing the laundry. And Covid, and its many variants, still occupies so much of our conversation. We get to mask, with our anxiety, the many other things we may be reluctant to talk about, the way I’m writing about the vaccine, when what I want to write about, even though it could be a little embarrassing, is time and love.
I have lost a lot of people in the last several weeks. A strong wind has been blowing through the trees. Each day brings the news of someone else’s passing. We are at that age, of course, though the news hits us differently when the child of a friend dies of an overdose, or when an acquaintance finally succumbs to a painful and debilitating illness.
Time and love. Forget about death and taxes. What we get is time and love. I was going to say that’s what we are given, but that raises the question of by whom or by what. Rather, a condition of life is that we get time and love, and I do think of both as a gift.
As I grow older each day seems more precious. Simultaneously, I am learning to pay attention, and not go crazy when I get stuck in traffic or try to reach Verizon by telephone. Instead ,I observe that there are things worth noticing, like the way the light streams through the window or that bird whose song I wish I recognized. I am learning to delight in small things. This is what I mean by love, not to be loved, though that is wonderful, but to give love, to take delight when I awake refreshed on those rare days when I have slept well, to eat ice cream, to realize that I love some people that I do not even like.
All these platitudes I have heard my whole life are beginning to sink in. The trite and the true. So, this morning I went to services for the last day of Passover. The irony of being an atheist who attends Sabbath services regularly is not lost on me. I went to say yizkor and mourn my dead, and weep and think about how lucky I am to have had and to have so many people in my life to love. I carry them with me for all the time I may have.
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Thanks to all who joined us at our Zoom Passover event. Great conversation. We will be announcing our next, we hope, in-person event soon. And keep those submissions coming in.