Eventually, Everything Goes Away.

My Mother Has Made Choices In Her Life, As We All Must, And She Is At Peace With Them. I Can See Her Peace. She Did Not Cop Out On Herself. The Benefits Of Her Choices Are Massive-a Long, Stable Marriage To A Man She Still Calls Her Best Friend; A Family That Has Extended Now Into Grandchildren Who Adore Her; A Certainty In Her Own Strength. Maybe Some Things Were Sacrificed, And My Dad Made His Sacrifices, Too-but Who Amongst Us Lives Without Sacrifice?

If I'm Being Forgiving Of Myself, I Could Say I'm Somebody Who Was Really Hungry For Experiences. The Same Thing That Would Make Me Go Try To Be A Trail Cook On A Ranch Was The Same Thing That Would Make Me Want To Have Sex With A Couple Cowboys While I Was There.

I Thought About The Relentless Thought-processing, Soul-devouring Machine That Is My Brain, And Wondered How On Earth I Was Ever Going To Master It. Then I Remembered That Line From Jaws And Couldn't Help Smiling: 'we're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat.

Moss Grows Where Nothing Else Can Grow. It Grows On Bricks. It Grows On Tree Bark And Roofing Slate. It Grows In The Arctic Circle And In The Balmiest Tropics; It Also Grows On The Fur Of Sloths, On The Backs Of Snails, On Decaying Human Bones. ... It Is A Resurrection Engine. A Single Clump Of Mosses Can Lie Dormant And Dry For Forty Years At A Stretch, And Then Vault Back Again Into Life With A Mere Soaking Of Water.

We Have Hands; We Can Stand On Them If We Want To. That's Our Privilege. That's The Joy Of A Mortal Body. And That's Why God Needs Us. Because God Loves To Feel Things Through Our Hands.