I’ve been thinking about death quite a bit lately. It might have something to do with losing a beautiful friend in September. It might have something to do with running a marathon in order to properly grieve the death of my bestest cousin. It definitely has something to do with the death of a library patron/friend a few weeks ago, the death of the guy we bought our house from (only 43 years old!) and the demise of twins, empathy and sympathy.
But. But! But, there is one thing I refuse to let die: the art of writing a good letter. People have asked me about the Christmas cards to Strangers project. More info about that can be found on LibraryThing but I guess you need to be a member… I’m excited to send out cards for a few strangers. It’s the least I can do in this age of caring less.
Letting things die is an interesting concept. In stressing out about compromises and keeping things copacetic I lost my connection to the concept of letting go. If you let something wither, technically you didn’t kill it, correct? Neglect doesn’t equal murder unless one side of the equation is truly hopeless and helpless. Am I right?
Last night I jumped on the tread for exactly eleven minutes. Why 11? I wanted to see how far I could go with my eyes screwed shut. I wanted to run blind, even if it meant half a mile. When I turned off the sight and ran by sense of balance I got as far as 1.04. Well, at least that’s not dead.