Paradoxes

Life is full of paradoxes. Like picking up dead flowers on a loved one’s grave site — a kind of death for the dead. Or stepping on old, soggy, torn ticket stubs from that baseball game someone waited months to attend; now the ticket is rendered unnecessary, but without that ticket, the experience would not have happened. Or even like finding a gift card you’d forgotten about or a piece of chocolate you saved until you needed that special boost only to discover the card expired, the chocolate gone white and yet, life went on, other special moments happened, and you didn’t even miss them. Paradoxes.

Our current lifestyle is its own paradox — we know more now than we’ve ever known before, but in truth, we’re missing the important things. We’ve forgotten to look and listen and hear. Eyes focused on screens do not see the sunset, ears plugged with cords do not hear the changes in a child’s voice providing natural moments of curiosity and inquisition. The constant push to do more, have more and be more have, paradoxically, left us feeling exhausted, broke and unfulfilled. We buy and buy, and then we purge the very things we bought. We revel in the beauty of our earth, buying oceanfront real estate which erodes the very land idea we mortgaged, and in the end, the oceans reclaims it, anyway. Paradoxes.

I have been honored and privileged to work with a generation of people who understands paradoxes and who have taught me to look for the connections and cycles in life. This generation has shown me that often not doing or talking provides the best insight and decision. Listening, waiting, watching and simply having faith more often than not shows us that life does work itself out.

And so I have done this as well in trying to figure out my own paradox. I began writing this column because I love to write, and I love this audience. Yet lately, I have experienced writer’s block. So after much sunset-watching, wine-sipping and cricket-chirping, I’ve decided to retire my column. I hope to pursue a different type of writing that goes a bit more back to my roots and will hopefully one day show another generation about these cycles and connections. Thank you for your compliments, your laughter and your encouragements throughout the past four years — they’ve meant more than you will ever know. Now grab a smoky cup of Earl Gray, curl up on the patio and just breathe. There’s no paradox in that.

God bless. — Wendy