In response to the past few Sundays’ messages, several people have replied, asking, “Are you okay?”

I am, but I’m not.

No, that’s not right.

I’m not, but I am.

There’s been another reminder that this life is finite. What I’ve been feeling (mourning?) is not that loss, but the loss of all the things I thought I’d do but won’t.

I’ll never be fluent in Spanish. Or French. I’ll never work for the Peace Corps, as my cousins did, or live abroad. I’ve done so much, but there is so much undone. So many uninflated dreams, empty balloons.

It’s not a bad thing, this realization. It could be if I threw myself into a funk and pondered all that I will never be or do.

Instead, it seems the only logical response to the tyranny of the finite is to live each day with appreciation, to embrace it with both arms, to feel it, see it, hear it, smell it, taste it.

To go to bed grateful for the day that was, to wake up grateful for the day that is.

PS: Last Thursday, I made my annual trek to the Cleveland Clinic to see Dr. Heiden. This was our ten-year anniversary, and we celebrated.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Thankful for my life.