The whole Italian Adventure is pretty well over with now. D returned home last week and is now enjoying the tricky parts of readjusting to a different time zone. We tuck in at a reasonable hour, and she's wide awake at around 3 in the morning. I'm not wide awake at 3, nor am I wide awake at 7 when I do finally drag my groggy self out from between the sheets.
There's not much going on in my life that's interesting enought to write about - so for now, you get a quick rundown of the facts, after which I'm going off on another tangent of minor import. Fun, huh?
After I left Italy and came back to the states, G returned to her home from the hospital, and D stayed with her for another three weeks through the last bits of post-surgery-recovery stuff. Most of this was making sure the pantry was stocked, that G would actually eat regularly, and a number of other logistical things. The tasks at hand punctuated an otherwise pretty calm time around the house. Lots of time for Mother and Daughter to talk about things they usually don't have time to talk about. To remember things. To articulate things.
That amphora we talked about earlier was on the dining room table when G arrived home, and her reaction to it was caught on video. Couldn't have gone better. Gluing that piece of old pottery back together is, without question, one of the very best things I've ever done. Not that I was the best person for the job. You know what I mean. It's one of the high points of my entire life.
Part of this home recovery phase included going through old photos and family artifacts - perhaps the coolest such artifacts are a few reels of 8mm that contain footage of D with her Father, taken many years ago. We are beyond eager to secure a projector so that we can see Signor Loi with the young Signorina.
It's funny how something seemingly normal can elicit an emotional response. Or maybe it's funny how easily I respond emotionally to something seemingly normal. D was telling some of us about going through the photos with her Mom, and how she was able to instantly identify those photos of her Mother that had been taken by her Father. Not because G was smiling every time Signor Loi was behind the camera. But that there was a specific quality to G's expression when he was manning the camera. I don't know if this was the face of love, of admiration, of partnership, or some other thing. Whatever it's called, it was a unique thing that only Mr Loi ever witnessed in person and that those of us who come after can only admire across the distance of time as we view these perfect moments on aging yellowed prints.
I spend a lot of my time feeling very, very fortunate. Almost all of it, to be honest. And yesterday was my birthday (each of these marks my good fortune, just as it does yours or anyone else's). Yesterday I celebrated the birthday that D's father himself never lived to see. I talked about this earlier.. rather than revisit that story for anyone who didn't read it the first time, I think it's better that you scroll down the blog page here and read about it. This is a story that deserves not be truncated. I'm not going to offer up any cliff notes now.
So I'm thinking about having turned the ripe old age of 43 and realizing that there's no way I can stretch the decade of my thirties to include anything that happens in this life after yesterday. Last week I was "thirtytwelve" years old, and this week I really am "fortythree." The
This 'half done' or 'half remaining' thing reminds me of a glass with water in it. The optimist finds it half full, the pessimist sees it half empty, and the engineer asserts that the glass is twice the size it needs to be. Glad I'm not an engineer. Those guys are no fun at all.
Or maybe not. Maybe a smaller glass would be perfectly appropriate. My life isn't half over, the first half hasn't been lost, and the perceived urgency to "make the best of the rest of it" really is only perception. The truth is that I've never been happier, never felt more fortunate, never been so appreciative. I think the thing I'd like to do (not the right thing, not the smart thing, not the best thing - the thing I'd like to do) is enjoy whatever's left as best I can.
And that's the challenge (pessimist) / opportunity (optimist) / task (engineer) each of us faces. I think a lot of people get caught up in the whole "as soon as" game and often find themselves doing something terrific (like turning 43) only to realize that they've spent a great deal of time and energy chasing goals that they've convinced themselves will unlock the door to this "happiness" thing. Nothing wrong with having goals. Indeed, without goals, we'd all likely be a big crowd of misdirected clowns lacking any cohesion or sense of direction. And we certainly don't want a society like that.
My thinking is that if we choose to postpone our happiness until after some criteria have been met, there's a very good chance that we'll postpone our happiness indefinitely. And once that goal has been realized, the most likely thing will be that we'll replace it with another goal, which will "require" another postponement of happiness. You can see where this is headed.
I'm not going to make a point [today] nor try to convince anyone of anything that I believe [from this podium]. But I just turned 43, and it took me until now to finally accept the legitimacy that comes with being over 30 [ahem] over 40. Truthfully, I've finally realized the farce it is to suggest that with age comes wisdom or credibility or any other arrogant thing. I've finally realized that I'm the same person I was ten twenty thirty years ago. I'm no better or smarter or more valid than anyone younger or older based on the number of years I've logged. I am an ordinary man.
Given that, I have just one request:
Please do not wait for some unrealized expectation to be met before you choose to enjoy all that this life offers you.
Which kind of relates to another brilliant quote (which isn't mine):
Life is short. Eat dessert first.
Best,
Cameron
