They were never meant to be together
She was much too short…and he was much too tall
He loved the silence…
She loved a tune
He was always chasing sunsets
She was following the moon.
But she began to to enjoy his silence
he…to appreciate her tunes
and they began chasing sunsets together
then together following the moon…
And suddenly she didn’t seem as short…
and he didn’t seem as tall
I wonder if, perhaps, they were meant to be together after all
If you ask any wise one…anywhere…anytime..the meaning of life…
they’ll smile…then happily exclaim:
“The meaning of life is to give meaning to life.”
It’s amazing how all their answers start out the same.
From here their answers vary…but please…have no doubts…no misgivings…they only vary slightly…because of the varied lives they are living.
“I’ve lived…I’ve loved…I’ve won…I’ve lost…I’ve dreamed…I’ve laughed…I’ve cried…I’ve hated…I’ve fought…I’ve been disgraced…I’ve been filled with remorse and with pride.”
“I’ve trusted…I’ve hurt…I’ve been hurt…I’ve made mistakes…I imagine there are times my heart and soul agree…I have not always been the person I imagine myself to be.”
“Yet, through my highs and lows…my ups and downs…I have somehow found a way…to learn from every one of them…to learn a little more each day.”
It is here they always conclude their lesson…it seems to this theme they all keep returning…they say: “The meaning of life is to give meaning to life and to do this…you never stop learning.”
Yes, if you ask any wise one…anywhere…anytime…the meaning of life they’ll explain…how their stories may vary in the middle…but they start out and end up the same.
Whenever I make a mistake my mind drifts to my little league coach back when I played the game…I’m sorry to say as the years have passed I have forgotten his name.
You see I loved the game of baseball…loved its glamour…it’s appeal…unfortunately my ability to play the game would never match my zeal.
If I missed a catch that somehow found its way to me…exiled in the right field clover…my coach would smile then patiently say, “Nice try, Jim….I think you need a do over”.
When I’d swing and miss…which unfortunately I did an exorbitant amount…coach gave me so many do overs I’m sure even he lost count.
Who would’ve thought my do overs would have given me a modicum of fame…but that’s precisely what happened as ‘Do Over’ became my name.
“Do Over, you’re up.”
“Do Over, nice try.”
“Do Over, throw me the ball.”
I’d even hear, “Hi Do Over.” In school…as I was walking down the hall.
On our jerseys, as a surprise, coach had our names emblazoned on the back…but when I looked at mine I was crestfallen…as I read Doover all in black.
How could this have happened…Coach said he hadn’t a clue…but, looking back, it seems appropriate my jersey was a do over too.
I put it on reluctantly…unable to think of an escape maneuver…and for the rest of my short-lived baseball career…my new nickname was Doover.
But I came to love that jersey…in it I found both glamour…and appeal…and I think I learned more from that jersey…than my time spent on the field.
I learned to view the world through imperfect but patient eyes…I learned everyone deserves a break…I learned to give people another chance…whenever they make mistakes.
Eventually my mom threw out my old jersey…years of wear and tear taking its toll…but I didn’t mind because by then…Doover was emblazoned on my soul.
Through teaching, marriage, fatherhood, friendships this Doover thread has spun…because we never know, when we fail, if the next do over is the One.
It’s funny how initially I thought Doover would lead to my demise…but in the end…it is Doover that saved me…
So…thanks coach…I may not remember your name…but I’ll never forget the name you gave me.
Today we commemorate 9/11…we remember the moment our world turned grey…it’s our annual reminder…of everyone and everything we lost that tragic…fateful day.
There have been 20 years of children born Sind 9/11…an entire generation not around…not around the day those lives were lost…not around the day our world came tumbling down.
Not around to remember how beautifully that day began…not around to tell…
how that beauty would change forever…the day the towers fell.
Not around to see people jumping out of windows…frightened women…frightened men…not around to remember telephone calls to loved ones…they’d never see again.
Not around to see the population of a city swallowed in debris…
Not around to see our country’s courage…our resiliency.
Not around to know of the heroes…for there were heroes everywhere
They were on the ground beside us…they were flying in the air.
Not around to understand what was in each person’s heart and soul…
In a plane when they decide to fight…when they uttered the words, “Let’s roll.”
Not around to see the carnage…smell the smoke…or here the din…
Not around to see people running out of doors while police and firefighters were running in.
That’s why we commemorate that day…
why we remind ourselves of the panic…the anger…the destructive power of a jet…
So those not around back then will long remember…
a day the rest of us cannot forget.
We are meant to learn from our failures and our successes…
from those who guide us…and those who lead us astray…
for that is the wonder of the past…
that is the beauty of yesterday.
And we are meant to take what we learned yesterday…
to help us develop our own perspective…to help us find our way…
for that is the wonder of the present…
that is the beauty today.
But…if we haven’t found our way yet…
If our path leads to sadness…pain…or sorrow
Ah….that is the wonder of what our future if for…
that is the beauty of tomorrow.
A poet who was famous for his love poems was approached by a young boy who shyly bowed his head…
“I want to write a love poem…can you teach me how?” He said.
The old poet smiled.
“So you have come to me because you know how love and poetry are intertwined…and I’m guessing there is a special someone for this poem you have in mind.”
A nervous smile crossed the young boy’s face at these words the poet said.
He looked up and the old poet could see his cheeks were glowing red.
The old poet smiled again.
“My best advice is don’t start out to write a love poem…you see it doesn’t work that way…start our writing about this person…and love will find a way.”
“Take pencil in hand…and think about this person…soon you’ll find it so exciting…
How the words will travel from your heart to your brain and end up in your writing.”
“And your poem may rhyme…or it may not…it does’t matter for in time you’ll see…anything written from your heart…why…that is poetry.”
“And you’ll feel such a sense of accomplishment when your poem is done…
That it won’t matter if it finds its way to a million people…or if it reaches only one.
“And once you’ve written your first love poem…once you see it completed there…
You’ll want to write another and another…because you’ll start to see love everywhere.”
“You’ll see it in your family…you friends…your pets, the Earth…your home…just remember, if you’re writing from your heart…you’ll end up with a poem.
“And finally remember you are human…sometimes you’ll end up with the perfect poem…a poem you will adore…other times you’ll realize…that’s what they make erasers for.”
“So if you want to write that love poem, take this pencil and this pad of paper too…
I have told you how to start…the rest is up to you.”
Time is a fascinating concept…how often she has us worried or perplexed…as we wonder how something as simple as time…ends up being so complex.
We know our time upon this Earth had a definite beginning and will have a definite end…as we live we discover she can be our enemy…and she can be our friend.
We are born without the concept of time…it is nowhere in our head…we only think about being warm…and held…and we think about being fed.
Then, one day we become aware of time and the trouble she can create…most likely it was the first time our parents told us we’d have to wait.
We spent much of our childhood and youth realizing time is something we will never master…always wishing to be a little older…that time would move a little faster.
Once we grow a little older and our concept of time is stronger…we have beautiful moments where we wish time would slow down and let them last a little longer.
And we have moments of great sadness when our world has turned to grey…when we wish time could speed up and as she does…whisk our sorrow away.
In fact, it seems we have this running feud with time the older and older we grow…sometimes wishing she’d move fast…other times praying she’ll go slow.
I imagine time is up there smiling each time we ask her to fulfill our needs…for she knows, no matter what we ask, she moves at but one speed.
Then one day we reach an age where time is no longer as important…where it no longer controls our head…where, once again, we’re happy just being warm and held…and fed.
A point in life when time slows down…and we are thankful…we are glad…
just to sit,
look back,
and smile…
at all the wonderful times we’ve had.
