Eli Wiesel wrote, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” It took a while for that to seep when I first heard it. I was young, and passionate, and not in the least bit resigned, or living in fear, or surrounded by ignorance. I hadn’t even learned to keep my mouth shut very well. But, over the years, I slipped into that gray area, where I argued less about issues, about rights, about ideals. Perhaps I didn’t have the energy. Or got too busy. Somehow I became indifferent to suffering and hatred and bad stuff that always seemed to be happening far, far away. Like famine in Africa. Or civil wars in eastern European countries with names I couldn’t pronounce. Even Columbine seemed distant and isolated. But then, on a crystal clear December morning, 20 young students and several teachers were massacred in Sandy Hook Elementary School and I woke up crying. I consoled myself with the thought that the whole world would change. It didn’t. Continue reading
Category Archives: Life
Idioms
As much as mistakes are heralded and lauded in each commencement speech from Harvard to Stanford, they seldom feel that way while you are free-falling out of control. Like when you lose your home. Or job. Or mother. Or marriage. Or health. The sensation of spinning is never a welcome sensation. Instead, we flail about trying to latch on to anything to prevent the inevitable broken bones we receive on impact; desperate to cling to every hope, false or otherwise, that eases us down.
But the truth is, as you lay for some time in the dust, you realize, you must rise again. You simply must. And eventually we do. We don our finest and face the disaster head on. Probably not at first, but if we survive the catastrophe, or for some, multiple catastrophes, we simply must stand. Personally, I am buoyed by Vince Lambardi’s words, “It does not matter how many times you get knocked down, but how many times you get up.” I guess you could say this has been my motto, and one that keeps me looking up and out, smiling, as I get my feet under me once again.
Staying Alive, still
When my children were young, out chasing rose petals flitting about our lawn in early July, chasing dandelions even earlier in May, chasing lightening bugs during hot late summer nights, all the while tramping through the smallest of neighborhoods, but one that included a covered bridge and swimming hole beneath it, enough woods to spy a fairy, and a few kids to trade baseball cards with, I wondered, what would become of these little people? Would they love to dance as much as I do? Would they find beats that drove them to the clubs like I did when I heard Black Box or Madonna or other late 80’s dance sounds? Now, as they have grown into young adults, with passions and degrees, with loves and jobs, I am thrilled they have found joy on the dance floor. Little makes me as happy as sharing that space with them…staying alive and living life!
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