Dusk, Night, Dawn: On Revival and Courage

When people know you too well, they eventually see your damage, your weirdness, carelessness, and mean streak. They see how ordinary you are after all, that whatever it was that distinguished you in the beginning is the least of who you actually are.

I live in fear of bad outcomes—of climate catastrophe, war, aneurysms; and of course, snake attack.

If you are blind or have leprosy or can’t walk, one would think you don’t need a cardboard sign to spell out the problem and your desired solution, i.e., to walk. But this would be admitting powerlessness, which was and is the scariest part of getting sober. Finally, if you are lucky, the Gift of Desperation gives you the insight that you’re in no

Yes, I’m odd, endlessly judgmental, secretly antisocial. Can you love me now?

If I repented to avoid hell, only my actions change, not my heart or outlook. If I’m repenting by leaning in closer to life, trying not to focus on everyone and everything that annoy me, then my perspective changes and I’m kinder.

I was stuck in staying one step ahead, tightly wrapped, fairly successful with hunched shoulders, filled with fears and tears, exhausted but the ultimate good sport, always cheerful or at least conversational.

Maturity is retaining a modicum of grace when you do not get your own way.

“He’s your friend,” she texted back. “He’s your friend that you get to sleep with and wake up with. That’s what married life is at its most basic. A friend, your teammate, a person you trust and look forward to talking to, about anything. Someone who seems to really, really like you, who you like, too.”

This existential exhaustion is everywhere we look these days in our world, our nation, and in our beloved, maybe especially in our teenagers and our very closest friends.