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Sunday, February 15, 2015

The World is Too Much With Us...

I may teach English, but I don't quote Wordsworth much; nonetheless, this line keeps popping into my head. The reasons have nothing to do with what this William meant. Or at least not so much.

It is in my head because I'm feeling too much of the world, too much of the sorrows and sadnesses, so much loss and death and hurt. My dear friend's brain tumor has taken her away; except for the occasional smile, she is lost. I can hold her hand and talk to her, but she is no longer there. A steady and spiritual woman, she comforted me over the years far more than I comforted her, and now the roles are reversed; when she seems anxious and confused, I can calm her. But I cannot calm myself.

Maybe the "getting and spending" part is about this, the realization that the quotidian slog of the profession means we don't say "I love you" enough to friends, or go out for a fun, gossipy lunch of laughter and forgetting. We don't push to enjoy the connected moments like we push for other things we think mean more, the success things. This is not a terribly original complaint, but now it is so evident, in every waking minute, suspended in the air like those four acres of cobwebs in Delaware. Loss is miasmic: personal, associational, flooding the media with tales of terrorists and terror.

This sounds despairing, but truly it is the opposite. I'm so flooded with daily gratitude I practically slosh: my friend has excellent care, as does a friend's brother who is in hospice. They have loving family and friends. I have loving family and friends who got me through some terrible times, frightening times. The comfort lies in knowing how much it helped, so I can possibly help now, choosing not to lay waste my powers.


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