Tag: loss

Categories
News

Turning Out the Lights

[Note: see also The Murder of the Washington Post by Ashley Parker who writes: “Jeff Bezos, the billionaire owner of The Washington Post, and Will Lewis, the publisher he appointed at the end of 2023, are embarking on the latest step of their plan to kill everything that makes the paper special.”]

I was struck this morning by the brutal dismantling of the Washington Post’s international reporting capabilities. The list of bureaus being shuttered by the paper reads like a roll call of the 21st century’s geopolitical fault lines: New Delhi, Sydney, Cairo, the entire Middle East team, China, Iran, Turkey.

It is a stunning retreat.

But to view this merely as a corporate restructuring or a casualty of the dying business model of print journalism seems to miss a deeper, darker signal. This seems like an actual cultural symptom.

“The world is becoming less America-centric by the minute while the United States is becoming more America-centric than ever.”

At the exact moment technology has rendered the world indistinguishable from a single room—where a virus, a meme, or a financial crash in one corner sweeps across the floor to the other in seconds—we are choosing to partition off that room.

There is a tragic symmetry to it. As the center of gravity shifts away from the us, the we respond not by engaging harder, but by closing its eyes.

When a newspaper that has shaped history decides that “reporting on the world” is no longer of valuable enough, it is doing more than saving money – although clearly that’s the primary motivation. It seems to be a surrender to the idea that what happens “over there” doesn’t matter enough to us because the people who were supposed to tell us it was coming are gone.

We seem to be turning out the lights in the rooms we find too difficult, believing that if we cannot see the world, the world cannot touch us. Feels wrong.

The moves closing these bureaus are part of broader cuts at the paper:

  • Closing the Sports section
  • Closing the Books section.
  • Restructuring and shrinking the Metro desk.
  • Suspending the Post Reports podcast.
Categories
Family Living

Choosing Happiness

In a profoundly moving article, financial writer Jonathan Clements shared his thoughts on facing a terminal cancer diagnosis. His words serve as a powerful reminder of life’s fragility and the importance of cherishing our limited time.

As I read his piece this morning, on what would have been our beautiful daughter Tracy’s 53rd birthday, I’m struck by how his message resonates with my own experiences of both joy and loss. Tracy passed away on December 20, 2022. Today, as we remember her birth 53 years ago, we are filled with a bittersweet mix of grief and gratitude. (See also this post on her birthday last year: A Very Special Day)

Tracy brought so much light into our lives – her laughter, her kindness, her unique way of seeing the world. We remember her childhood antics, her significant accomplishments as an adult, and the countless moments of joy she shared with our family and her friends.

Clements’ approach to his situation is both inspiring and thought-provoking. He chooses to focus on what truly matters: spending time with loved ones, pursuing meaningful work, and setting things in order for those he’ll leave behind. As we all should. His attitude encapsulates a profound truth: happiness is indeed a choice, even in the face of heartbreak.

For Clements, this means working on his website, spending quality time with family, and planning for the future. For me today, it means honoring our daughter’s memory by embracing the joy she brought into our lives and carrying forward her spirit of love and kindness.

Today, as we celebrate our daughter’s life and the immeasurable happiness she brought to our family, I’m reminded that choosing happiness is also a way of honoring those we’ve lost. It’s about carrying forward their love, their spirit, and the lessons they taught us.

Godspeed Tracy!

Categories
Living

Life’s a Honeymoon Bridge: A Hand Dealt Just for You

Amor Towles, the literary maestro behind “A Gentleman in Moscow,” throws a curious phrase our way in the epilogue of “Rules of Civility” – life’s a game of honeymoon bridge. Intriguing, right? Forget four partners and fancy bidding wars. Honeymoon bridge is a stripped-down affair, two souls huddled, playing with a deck stacked with the unknown.

In our twenties, when there is still so much time ahead of us, time that seems ample for a hundred indecisions, for a hundred visions and revisions—we draw a card, and we must decide right then and there whether to keep that card and discard the next, or discard the first card and keep the second. And before we know it, the deck has been played out and the decisions we have just made will shape our lives for decades to come.

Amor Towles, Rules of Civility

Makes you think, doesn’t it? Because life, let’s face it, is rarely a team sport. We navigate its twists and turns with a partner by our side sometimes, sure, but ultimately, the hand we’re dealt is ours alone. We hold the cards, good and bad, diamonds of joy, clubs of disappointment, hearts overflowing with love, and spades that sting with loss.

The beauty, and the burden, of honeymoon bridge is this: you don’t get to see all the cards at once. They’re dealt face down, one by one. A job offer, a heartbreak, a random act of kindness — each a surprise revelation. You play based on what you hold, strategize on the fly, hoping the next card complements your hand, not cripples it.

Think about it. That first crush, a nervous flutter as you lay down a tentative “hello.” The late-night study session, hearts pounding in sync with the clock ticking down to exam day. The thrill of landing your dream job, a high five with fate itself. These are the early bids, the initial gambles in this grand game of life.

But here’s the twist: unlike bridge, where the entire deck is eventually revealed, life keeps some cards hidden. You might yearn for a specific suit, a heart to mend a broken one, a diamond to replace a financial worry. But the dealer, that mischievous force we call destiny, has its own agenda.

So, what do you do? Do you fold, overwhelmed by the uncertainty? No, my friend. In honeymoon bridge, you play with what you’ve got. You learn to finesse the hand you’re dealt. A bad grade? Maybe it’s a wake-up call to explore a different path. A lost love? A chance to rediscover yourself and redefine what matters.

The key, as Towles suggests, is in that word “honeymoon.” It speaks of a time of joy, of new beginnings, of a willingness to embrace the unknown. It’s about approaching life with the wide-eyed wonder of a first kiss, a constant sense of discovery even when the cards seem stacked against you.

Sure, there will be moments of frustration. You’ll throw your hands up, wondering why you keep getting dealt rotten luck. But remember, even the worst hand can be salvaged by a clever play. A setback at work might lead to an unexpected opportunity. A health scare could ignite a newfound appreciation for life.

Life’s a game of honeymoon bridge, after all, not a high-stakes poker game. There’s no all-or-nothing final showdown. It’s a continuous flow, a constant dance with the cards you’re given. And the most skilled players, the ones who truly master the game, are the ones who learn to adapt, to find the hidden value in every card, even the seemingly useless ones.

Because sometimes, the joker you least expect becomes the winning play. A random encounter blossoms into a lifelong friendship. A layoff pushes you towards a hidden passion. These unexpected turns, these wild cards, are what make the game truly exhilarating.

So, the next time life throws you a curveball, a card you didn’t see coming, take a deep breath. Remember, it’s honeymoon bridge, not a battle royale. Embrace the challenge, assess your hand, and make the best play you can. With a little bit of strategy, a whole lot of heart, and a dash of that honeymoon spirit, you might just surprise yourself with the hand you build.

Life’s a game, after all, and the best players are the ones who keep playing, no matter what cards they’re dealt. It’s the journey not the reward.