Saturday, December 10, 2011


A series of perceived injustices led to a vein of anger channeled into a tightly controlled stream of consciousness about eggs. That's right. Eggs. Past the mosh pit into a party where one sip too many released the obsessive nature of his work. He was a commodity analyst and his latest job had been poultry before the fact. His numbers, a foreign language to someone who thought she had a handle on math, were his safety zone in a room full of strangers. I grabbed his hand, looked into his eyes, said his name and he came back from his short psychotic break to smile. That smile was one of the most beautiful, innocent smiles you will never see. Of all the moments we had together that year at least a decade ago this one stands out because when life became too much he thought of eggs but I thought of him. At my best, most sober, thoughtful self I am grateful for that moment. When I need him I remember him and what he taught me. At my worst I think we should not suffer in those places we go to escape suffering.

To learn to get along without, to realize that what the world is going to demand of us may be a good deal more important than what we are entitled to demand of it, this is a hard lesson.
Bruce Canton

Gratitude imperfect.

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