At work, I park near a vacant lot that is littered with debris, trees and the occasional burst of color.
Last week, I noticed that in addition to dozens of chaotic and prolific small yellow flowers, there were a few pale purple blooms.
It doesn’t really matter where I was 20 years ago Saturday, because I wasn’t in the Twin Towers or the Pentagon or flying over Pennsylvania.
But any American old enough to remember that day, remembers where they were when they heard what was happening, when they saw the images on television.
I hope to be much older still before I’m done, but I have already lived long enough to hold several worlds in my hands.
First, there was my childhood, where we played outside, slapped at mosquitoes and ran freely back and forth to neighbors’ houses without our parents worrying if we would make it there safely.
Growing up in what is now a bursting-at-the-seams Chicago suburb, I lived next door to a cottage without indoor plumbing.
The cottage had been the goat shed of the homestead in our rural area and, as children, we were fascinated by its primitive plumbing.
Instead of being angry and frustrated that the COVID world is once again closing in on us, I’m focusing on those months when I wasn’t worried every time I coughed.
I am one of the 70% of Americans who got vaccinated and felt relief, along with a handful of uncomfortable side effects in the immediate aftermath.
Once in a while, I remember to play.
What came so naturally to us as children is less obvious to our aging adult bodies and sensibilities. We have been conditioned to focus on dignity, task completion, responsibility and worrying what people will think about us.
There are people in this world – I am not one of them – who have that rare ability to make other people happy just by their nature.
That’s not to say that the rest of us don’t bring joy, comfort and smiles to others. But it’s not our primary gift. We have others to cultivate in order to leave our mark on the world.
