Dear UD,
Around 1802, William Wordsworth wrote “the world is too much with us” partly to express how overwhelming everything feels sometimes and partly in criticism of how the Industrial Revolution led people towards a life consumed with material things and work and away from nature and the spiritual life. How little could anyone imagine back then how he got it so right.
In the past couple of weeks, the Eastern Puma has become extinct, and the last Northern White male Rhino has died while giraffes have gone on the endangered species list. I can't imagine a world without these creatures in it.
On another level, in meetings and emails and news headlines and social media posts, I see hatred and violence and tyranny working its way through our country. It angers and frightens me.
Also, I keep reading or hearing about too many people dying suddenly for no reason too young. That is sad and scary.
And I'm grading research papers where too many college students do not know how to write a clear sentence or how to follow directions or how to think critically enough to write a focused thesis statement or how to slow down for a moment to get it right. It worries me for the next generation—not only the world we leave them but the lack of skills we leave them with.
Uncle David, it's your birthday month and almost exactly one month from the day
I received the call three years ago, the call that you were gone from this
world, the call that shattered my world. Three years and I still miss you so
much. Sometimes the ache of the loss is too much. But that's personal. And
selfish. Because I wouldn't want you to see this horrible world right now. But
I still want you here, and I still need you and still miss you. Three years
ago, yet in this moment the loss feels too fresh all over again.
So I start a letter because I want to tell you all about it. Because I know you were so full of love that you would still see some good in the world right now.
Around 1802, William Wordsworth wrote “the world is too much with us” partly to express how overwhelming everything feels sometimes and partly in criticism of how the Industrial Revolution led people towards a life consumed with material things and work and away from nature and the spiritual life. How little could anyone imagine back then how he got it so right.
In the past couple of weeks, the Eastern Puma has become extinct, and the last Northern White male Rhino has died while giraffes have gone on the endangered species list. I can't imagine a world without these creatures in it.
On another level, in meetings and emails and news headlines and social media posts, I see hatred and violence and tyranny working its way through our country. It angers and frightens me.
Also, I keep reading or hearing about too many people dying suddenly for no reason too young. That is sad and scary.
And I'm grading research papers where too many college students do not know how to write a clear sentence or how to follow directions or how to think critically enough to write a focused thesis statement or how to slow down for a moment to get it right. It worries me for the next generation—not only the world we leave them but the lack of skills we leave them with.
Uncle David, it's your birthday month and almost exactly one month from the day
I received the call three years ago, the call that you were gone from this
world, the call that shattered my world. Three years and I still miss you so
much. Sometimes the ache of the loss is too much. But that's personal. And
selfish. Because I wouldn't want you to see this horrible world right now. But
I still want you here, and I still need you and still miss you. Three years
ago, yet in this moment the loss feels too fresh all over again.So I start a letter because I want to tell you all about it. Because I know you were so full of love that you would still see some good in the world right now.
It's spring, and I
remember that you would be outside hunting for buds and feeding birds and
walking your dogs and delighting in spring bulbs and flowers.
I have a 12-hour day of classes and grading. But tomorrow, I promise to go outside and sit in nature for a little while. And I will gaze in wonder at the beauty around me. Let it fill me up so that I might go out with kindness and some joy and be a blessing to others, like you were to so many.
Love, Rach
I have a 12-hour day of classes and grading. But tomorrow, I promise to go outside and sit in nature for a little while. And I will gaze in wonder at the beauty around me. Let it fill me up so that I might go out with kindness and some joy and be a blessing to others, like you were to so many.
Love, Rach
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