While wasting some amount of my life’s time scrolling through FB the other evening, I saw a post that stopped me in my tracks. I sat stunned stupid by the words I’d read. I re-read them just to make sure.
Then I switched my phone to call mode and pressed “send” on a friend’s name. He answered and I began to cry before I could speak. He’d just lost his cousin, his oldest and best buddy. Cousins are usually our first buddies and the good ones become our best ones for our whole lives. I have some of these, so I know.
The chat was brief, as there wasn’t a lot to say besides some shared grief and heart-broken “I love you’s”. Most words fall short on these occasions, but sometimes three of them may be all there really is to say.
After this short call, I cried a little more. I thought about my buddy’s loss and knew his hurt. And I hated it. I wish life didn’t carry this part with it. But, it does. I understand this pretty well. Though, like many things we understand, they still hurt, sometimes deeply. The lost man was exceptional. He was creative and bright and kind. He was a husband and a son and a dad and friend. And a cousin. He was a good one all the way around. Life can sure feel cruel sometimes.
Reflecting on this call and its news that served no good purpose except to maybe remind us that life is always uncertain, and certainly, and always, too short, I remembered. I don’t forget this much. I’ve got my own history with this reminder.
Trying to make sense from the senseless is usually futile, but in our desperation we may find things of use or simply make them up to feel a little better. These words might be that.
Sometimes life gets in the way of an ordinary Tuesday. We spend so much time thinking and over-thinking and fretting and regretting that we miss it. We miss a regular day. And what we really miss is the fact that there are no regular days. They all hold some beauty and some magic and connection to bigger things which might be actually pretty small. The smell of a morning. The taste of sweet coffee while witnessing the miracle of a new dawn breaking. The changing colors of the sky and the shadows of trees and the songs of birds and the opening of flowers. The clouds and the wind and the briny scent of the sea. The honest smile of a friend and a shared laugh and a secret look and a long hug and a slow kiss. These things are life- a good life. And they rise each day and they stay available for us to notice and sometimes love. Missing them is where we get it wrong. The further I travel my own path the more sure of this I become.
But, when we wake up or get shaken awake by tragedy, we think about these things and what they mean and we think about what we mean. We think about life and how we’re living it. We re-think our ideas or our plans and wonder if there’s a better way. And there usually is. And it usually shows up on an ordinary Tuesday when we leave the distractions of a past we can’t change and a future not here yet, and see and feel and know that we’re lucky and that the day is a fine one, and that we should stop our striving and our pining and our worrying long enough to appreciate that we have all that we need. We don’t need more- more knowledge or clarity or stuff or healing or time. We have now- a day, this day, to be alive in. And we should acknowledge it and give to it what we have. And we should honor it as a blessing and let it move us and show us and remind us of important things, maybe even who we are. This might be the sad, but potent, lesson from a short phone call with a broken voice. We don’t have forever. But, when we can truly love an ordinary Tuesday, we might be onto something.
Dave Markwell is a life-long Des Moines liver and lover. Former owner of Waterland CrossFit and the Waterland Arcade, Dave uses his unique story-telling voice to help small businesses tell a better story, and his love for people to help folks live bigger and better lives. For more info, check out his website: wordsbydave.net
