Shifting Perspective

I woke this morning to two things:

1. An article in the NYT about 4 Palestinian boys killed at the beach. The oldest was 11 or 12 and had sent his 8 year old brother home, because it was “too dangerous.” In the interview with the reporter the 8 year old child said, “He was always worried for me.”

2. I got an email from the boys’ father, wanting to discuss why our boys punch each other so much (they really do, it’s kind of their hobby).

I can’t stop crying. At my unearned good luck. At the danger in the world. I talk about war every single day. But there’s a part of me that doesn’t fully believe it. Intellectually I believe it, of course–but there is a part of me that stays in soft focus, allows me to stay right here in the now among my beautiful things and air conditioning and cups and cups of coffee. But sometimes I read or see something that makes all of that fall away. Like my suit of armor has evaporated and I’m completely vulnerable and conscious of how awful things can be. And I can’t think of why I should do the things that seem so important–going to work or to the doctor or to dinner with friends. I will, of course. I will do all of those things. I will put on my armor, though today it will feel like an aluminum knock-off. I will be penetrable and hold my face in a certain way that I have learned keeps my tears at bay. I will smile and make light conversation on the inpatient wards, I will go to dinner and laugh a little less brightly, ask people who love me to carry me, hold me closer and tomorrow the focus will become soft again, and I will walk through my life a little more easily. Because I don’t know what else to do.

But I can’t leave you there. When my perspective becomes like this, so focused on the things going on in the world and the time we live in, I am particularly grateful for The Writer’s Almanac. For hundreds of years, people have been writing about the wonder and horrors of this earth. It keeps spinning, the universe keeps expanding.