I had to think today of that poem by John Donne, “No Man is an Island.” It came to me in the middle of some tense family moments. It was quarantine o’clock and, as usual, my wife and I were being the worst parents ever.
Then, quite out of nothing, the poem popped into my head and I was taken back to my memory of those solemn lines. I said them loudly to inject a little absurdity into the family din.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,Every man is a piece of…
This weekend we went to see our parents in the airy state of PA. I say airy, because of the space. It’s almost like six feet was always too close for the people of Pennsylvania.
Everywhere I looked, I saw people with the same expression on their face. What was it?Confusion? Numb bewilderment? It’s almost as if we got wiped out by the junk food virus.
I’m not making claims about Pennsylvanians, mind you. I see the same look in the eyes of my Marylanders and my New Yorkers. I see it on the TV people. I hear it in the voices of the NPR reporters.
I have come to the conclusion that the political sphere, at least at the national level, does not require my vociferous opinion. I’ve had many over the last few years. Shamefully, my Facebook wall is littered with passionate posts about dead political matters. Sometimes looking through my Facebook is like looking at a car with faded Kerry/Edwards sticker on the trunk. Who can countenance such failure? They make those things magnetic for a reason.
Today was my wife’s birthday and at about 1 a.m. this morning I got a jolt of anxiety and sat up in bed. “I haven’t done enough!” I thought to myself. “I’m a terrible husband!” And then, like so many of these middle-of-the-night thoughts, I ignored it and let my sub-conscious work out the problem.
My wife told me there’s a saying going around at her virtual office. “There are only three days: yesterday, today and tomorrow.” I don’t think people are saying that with too much sadness though. Is anyone really missing the other four? I read somewhere that the Igbo people had four-day work weeks and that the Soviets had flexible job schedules of 5-10 days. I don’t think any culture has got it tuned quite right. I’ve always preferred Buddhist arguments for the illusion of time, but I also make spreadsheets tracking my productivity. So parse that out.
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