Each year around the summer solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere, I think of folks I know in Australia, marveling that another half-year has slipped by without being more in touch with these far-flung friends. I wonder how they spent their day of the fewest daylight hours, and try to recall what I did to mark summer’s birth with the greatest number of sunlit hours in one day.
Each year around the summer solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere, I think of folks I know in Australia, marveling that another half-year has slipped by without being more in touch with these far-flung friends. I wonder how they spent their day of the fewest daylight hours, and try to recall what I did to mark summer’s birth with the greatest number of sunlit hours in one day.
Regretfully, I don't remember. Didn’t attend a solstice party, and may not have even noted the occasion on my calendar. It was probably another busy day of getting the bare minimum done while unimportant incidentals helped fritter away the long morning, afternoon, and evening of light.
So now I’m reflecting on our circumnavigation of the Sun.
We've heard the idea put forth that no one on their deathbed wishes they had spent more time at the office. I imagine the far more common end-of-life regret revolves around time that was not so well spent.
I am not talking about changing the world with revolutionary ideas or startling new beauty. I'm thinking more of the endless hours lost to wild goose chases for personal happiness and career fulfillment, all at the expense of genuine connections with other human beings.
Just last week, a friend of some 20 years endorsed me on an online networking site. She was good about staying virtually in touch, regularly responding to my posts in social media. And when our paths did cross in the physical world, we could pick up where we left off; her smile showed time apart proved no lack of affection. It was a shock to learn a few nights ago of her sudden, unexpected passing.
I would have seen her at the big Memorial Day party a mutual friend throws every year in the old neighborhood, the one I didn't go to this time. Can’t remember what excuse I gave myself. Was I too tired or just feeling lazy? In any case, I chose not to be with the old gang and, in doing so, missed the chance to see my late pal one last time. This, the universe provides another lesson in the finite number opportunities to really be human.
Just got word a friend from high school is mulling treatment options for her fourth occurrence of cancer. Stuck in a local hospital for awful chemotherapy during her most recent bout, she was easy to visit a couple times a week. Since she's been back at home, some 45 minutes away, the most she's gotten from me is the occasional e-mail.
When my hours on earth are nearly through, it's a safe bet that I'll be sorry for not making a drive to see her. So that’s what I’ll do this week, as well as write my friends in Australia.
It’s best we face facts: none of us are growing any younger. Just like you only get a certain number of trips around the Sun, you only get so many chances to really connect with other people.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
