Tuesday, November 26, 2013
The rain comes – along with wind.
I never heard of a Nor’easter until I moved to Hoboken in the early 1990s, and then I never stopped hearing about, especially when my condo roof leaked.
This was far worse than anything I experienced in Passaic, where life was relatively dry inside, if never quite warm enough.
We live in a changing world – not just because of global warming, but also because we can’t seem to find a place that feels warm and dry on days like this.
I remember jogging through all sorts of weather with the confidence that when I got back home I would not have to worry.
These days, life is full of worry and obligations, and assumptions – we either have to shed or get crushed under their weight.
Sometimes the real weight isn’t on the outside, but inside, and we carry it around like excess baggage – the way Louise used to pack our VW van with things we would never need on our road trip out in the west.
I’m in the process of shedding a lot of physical stuff with the hopes it translate into something inside that is always shed.
Of course, we should be wary about what we get rid of as much as what we keep. Sometimes, things that seem of little value are the most valuable things of all.
Wisdom is knowing which is which, and at what point a blessing becomes a burden, and should be shed.
But then, I’ve never be as wise as all that, and keep small treasures inside me forever, things that other people might think I should shed.
I just can’t – useful or not, some small things make life worth living, and though we might be able to live without them, life would be greatly diminished – perhaps even pointless to live.
So I stare out the front window of my office at the rain, and know I shall soon have to plunge out into it, to get to my car, to get to some pointless meeting, to get home hoping that the roof isn’t leaking and the heat still works, and perhaps to feel just a little of that tenderness I felt way back then when I shivered against the cold in Passaic.