Osler's Razor

I am 52 years old, and some days that still surprises me. How did that happen? My body feels the same, pretty much, and there is a part of me that is just as immature as ever. 

Yet, there is something about the accumulation of years that affects the way I see the world. There is now a pile of memories for every image, song, scent, and emotion. When I see a bridge like this one (in Nebraska City, Nebraska), my mind glances over and lands lightly on a handful of other moments: the middle of the night on the bridge over Crim Dell at William and Mary in 1984, a bridge by the cider mill in Michigan in 1993, a tiny bridge in Cameron Park in Waco in 2007. I pause with a welter of feelings, brought along from other parts of my life when I was in many ways a different person.

But, still, there are new things-- some of them shocking and wonderful and strikingly beautiful.  This week was full of that, woven in with the other things. I sat down with a reporter and talked about things I care about, I taught a class and laughed when I messed up, I went to a new place (Nebraska City, Nebraska, in fact, where I was talking to federal defense attorneys), and I had a great debate in a packed room with an old friend (Judge Richard Sullivan). There is a richness to it all-- one that I can see clearly now that I have those years and layers of memories. That gift of perspective lets me know when things are good and beautiful and rare.

Which makes giving thanks deeper and better...