I awake with the sun awaking. The sky is not black, but it is not blue, it is that in-between place, that half-way place that always occurs between two states. We often ignore that halfway place between what was and is. We see the black and the white, the peace and the war, the democrats and the republicans. But there is always an in-between. Nature is good at in-betweens, reminding me that I do not need to be one or the other. For a few minutes, it is neither night nor day, and I can gather my thoughts from the night and consider the day—what will be, what I fear, what I hope.
What do I fear? I fear the existential and the immediate. I fear forgetfulness and wastefulness: that I will be forgotten because I have wasted my talents and my purpose. But I also fear the immediate. I fear the pain in shoulder that will not go away, always aching for these last few weeks. It is a fear based on incomplete knowledge. I know enough about disease and cancer and debilitation to be afraid of the possibilities, but I do not know enough to know the limitations: what it is not. Many fears work this way, listing all things that could be since we do not know what it is not. Our lack of knowledge leads us (let’s be honest, me) to fear the worst: debilitating destruction.
What do I hope? That is the more difficult question. It’s always easier to list the fears than the hope, because hope leads to the possibility of disappointment.
