How many days do we find ourselves mired in the drama of our lives? All those little things which seem so important at the moment we lose sight of the world outside? I know I am guilty of this.
So much happens, all the wonderful and horrible things we see, read, and hear. They seem so removed from our own lives, it is as if they happen on another planet. Yet they are not, we are not, as distant as we might like to believe. Even in the moments of our deepest isolation there is a thread which connects us. We are human, someone’s mother, sister, daughter. We are someone’s friend, coworker, boss, employee. We are surrounded by relationships both discreet and overt.
We might not know anyone who has been affected by tragedy directly, but still we share in their grief and loss. We might never know what they have learned through personal experience, yet it is all too easy to brush against the specter of mortality and in that moment understand the briefest instant of what they will live with for the rest of their lives. It is this understanding, that what we catch a fleeting glimpse of, has become their reality, which overwhelms us and takes our natural desire to be empathetic beyond our ability to understand.
We watch the news, we listen to the interviews and we hope and pray we never find ourselves or loved ones in such a situation. Yet we must also acknowledge the possibility exists.
But such an acknowledgement is not to surrender to fear or inaction. We cannot stop living our lives, nor should we wish to do so. Life is too precious to squander on maybes or might have beens. To hide ourselves away is the greater crime for then all we have to offer is wasted.