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QUINTESSENCE

How Much Still Remained

And the longer he thought
the more plain to him how much
still remained to be experienced,
and written down, a material world heretofore
hardly dignified.

And he recognized in exactly this reasoning
the scope and trajectory of his own
watchful nature.


- from "Roman Study," Louise Gluck

Fog has filled the valley and spilled over the rim of the bluffs I live on, threading, gray and impenetrable, through the bare trees. In this shifting uncertainty of cloud and cold I take my early walk. Through the neighborhoods, past houses with families gathered at breakfast tables in kitchens that spill yellow light. Harried parents load preschoolers into warming cars, bundled against the cold. The asphalt sparkles with frost and I push my hands deep in my pockets, thinking about this year, 2017. The past year has been both wonderful and extremely tough on some of those I love, difficult overall for our country.

Are these twists of luck and suffering part of a larger meaning, or simply accidental? Life so often feels composed of chance, of fortune both good and bad. Surely this mortal journey is more than a grand roller derby of messy and spectacular collisions. How in the midst of a careless random are we to make successful choices? Seek right outcomes, make peace with the truly awful?

My late husband Ken used to say of his outlook on life, "I work at the art of reasoning away bad luck." I think about this often now. He was teasing me to some extent, as I tend to cling to a faith in greater things to come, especially through sorrows or tragedies I do not understand. He pointed out you can't change what is, but you can choose how to deal with it. Your way. Even now, I still throw prayers out like a fisherman's net, hunting meaning in misfortune, convinced there must be an eventual breakthrough into a wiser, if not better life.

The best I've come up with is life is a sailboat tacking across open waters. The seas and winds change, and with shift, the set of the sails and tiller must change as well. We are at our best if our hand stays steady, gaze fixed on the horizon regardless of the conditions we navigate.

I embrace the spirit of the poem. Life is lived forward. The fog lifts. How much remains to be experienced.

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