I’m in a rut. It’s a happy consistent rut. I’m cozy comfortable in it. But, it’s a rut just the same. Day in, day out. Everyday is practically the same and in that sameness I am happy. Or, at least I was. I liked the routine of my little life. I liked knowing which way I would drive to work, what I would have for breakfast. There was comfort in the predictability of it all. Until Mary.
Mary was a friend of mine. I’m one of hundreds who called her by that name of friend. In Malcolm Gladwell’s world she would have been called a Connector, someone who had the ability to connect dozens of people to dozens of other people by sharing similar interests. Indeed, her memorial was attended by her baking friends, her knitting friends, her soap-making friends, her dancing friends, her musician friends, her sailing friends, her island friends, her kayaking friends…to say nothing of the friends who had none of these interests in common.
We were asked to share stories. How did you know Mary? What is your favorite memory of Mary? Something about Mary. All about Mary. An island friend stood up, faced the congregation and, with anger in her voice, said “What happened to Mary isn’t right!” How could someone with so much to give be taken from us so soon?
There was a lesson to be learned. Something to be understood. The take-away was this: love your life and live it like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it might be stolen out from under you. Your day to day might never be again. Don’t live and learn. Learn to live. See where that gets you.
As for me. I want to learn to bake. Finish what I started. Ring that bell.