This probably isn't the blog that it was going to be. Maybe none of them ever are.
It's been a hard week for news about friends. Things seem to be coming in waves. I just found out that my best school friend from 11th and 12th grade died back in May. We had been rather out of touch (she was in the world of high finance living many states away, and somehow with all my moving around and my low-finance interests, we only occasionally saw each other at reunions). She was indomitable; it is inconceivable to me that she is no longer here. Another dear friend spent the summer fighting cancer, and she told virtually none of her family and friends. She's recovering, and I am so thankful. But it's hitting me in waves, these "life after 60" moments on top of the literal storms of water, fire and wind.
Yesterday, I saw a wonderful Martha Beck video which I seem to be too inept to figure out how to share here. But basically, she was mulling over the chaos we are experiencing, and how, trying to find a video about Irma, she stumbled across a video of a surfer riding one of the biggest waves in the world. To paraphrase her, this guy looks like he's been swallowed up by the wave, but then he surfs right out from the middle of it with style. And it was a beautiful metaphor. OK, maybe we won't all survive these big waves (I don't really believe in death, which I guess it's about time I talk about but not today), and maybe we won't all surf in style, but maybe we can at least navigate our board fearlessly up to the wave and glide to safety as best we can.
Tomorrow, I'm going to be giving a brief presentation to a group about my trip to England. Right this second, I can't think of anything that seems further away from my reality than the choir stalls of an English cathedral. But there are entire islands that have washed away in the Caribbean and people whose lives couldn't be more upended. All in all, I am as fortunate as they come. When the waves hit me, may I keep breathing, and keep celebrating life and love wherever I see them.
