A coworker of mine died in his sleep the other day. He was only 41. He had two engineering masters degrees, was working on a law degree, and was an accomplished cellist and violinist. So young. I found myself pondering, as I walked up and down the halls of my office, whether I am where I want to be.
These halls, these walls. I’ve spent the better part of 23 years behind these walls, earning my keep. I was restless in the early years, thinking this was but a stepping stone on my life path, and I was anxious to find the other path. The one I really wanted to follow. But somewhere down this very road I realized that it’s a very good road to travel. I am happy here. There is a comfortable rapport, standing shoulder to shoulder among these people with whom I share my life.
I’ve written a bit on mortality recently, the main point being that I dearly hope to live long enough (at the very least!) to see my children to adulthood. But if today were my last day, could I say that I have lived well, that I am living well?
I could say that.
Yes.
The answer is yes.
I am surrounded by fine people. I have stimulating and important work. I have a husband. I have children. I have a comfortable home and reliable transportation. A closet filled with clothes. A pantry stocked with food. I have a blessed and beautiful life. Certainly there were rocky passages, but here, now, the way is smooth.
And with cheeks like these to nibble on? Could life be any better?
