Life is short

truckriver

I say it all the time, but life is indeed short. I could riff on the death of Hugo Chavez at 58 from cancer, but many others will do that better than I could. So I’ll use this story instead. The snow from this storm fell yesterday, and is heading eastward today. I’m staring at its remainder out my window as I type this.

One of the motivating factors behind writing this blog is the realization that every day could be my last. I’ve lived thousands of days already, and I hope I’ll live thousands more, but I don’t have anything more than hope to go on. The guy who was driving this truck probably felt the same way I do. But in the end, it wasn’t up to him to decide where and how it ends.

Yesterday, I was out walking my dog as the snow was coming down. I spotted a U.S. Postal Service truck caught in a snow drift. He wasn’t going anywhere without some help, so I tied my dog to a streetlight and got behind the postal truck to lend a hand.

As I was pushing the truck with all the strength I could muster, while tremendous amount of fumes from this truck were hitting me in the face, it occurred to me that this type of exertion has probably meant bad things for many people throughout human history. But I was involved in a good deed, both for the mail carrier behind the wheel, and the others who were depending on the letters and packages on his truck. If it meant the end for me, so be it. I pushed on anyway, and the mail carrier and his cargo were soon on their way. And as he pulled away, I felt good about what I had done, consequences or no consequences. And thankfully there were none.

My fatalist streak is wide and deep. And though the truck in the picture above plunged into an icy river in Wisconsin, it landed in my fatalist streak, too. I hope the driver of this truck had a good life, and that those who mourn his loss will remember him as they go on with their own lives. And I hope that when my time comes, whenever that is, I can look back at my life and be pleased with it, on the whole.

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