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Thursday, December 29, 2016

I Found My Keys

After not finding them for nearly an hour. Bob Denver ("Gilligan") died, as well as Debbie Reynolds, (Singing In The Rain) mourning her daughter Carrie Fisher who died, as I'm sure you heard. Every day is a mix of triumph and tragedy, with mostly tragedy, or so it seems.

But I found my keys.

I told a friend yesterday that the transient pleasures of this life will never be enough, and that's surely true, no? We're crying more as a culture, because we can't hide the emptiness anymore. It might be mawkish and shallow, but it's a start.

And I found my keys.

My favorite coat now is a gift from a friend, and it belonged to his cousin, who died suddenly. I only know of him from a few stories. There is likely nothing I could say to understand what he was like. How do you summarize a life?

But I bet he'd be glad I found my keys.

And of course it's a metaphor; you really shouldn't leave home without your keys. You can't have thieves breaking in, stealing your treasure. Even if you did, you'd be worried all day. You'd come back and immediately inventory everything. Your keys unlock the doors to places that hold the most important things (and people).

It's good to find your keys, your purpose. But also to take an inventory. What matters? What have I held on to? Is it worth treasuring? When sorrow, disease, and death come, do I still know what it's all about?

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