I don’t have a bucket list. What I’d love to do before I
die. In fact, I don’t spend a lot of time on regrets, resentments, has-to-be’s.
It might have something to do with expectations. I didn’t spend a childhood
thinking about college or what would happen after college. Don’t get me wrong.
It’s not that I’m not driven: there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to
chase my passions: writing, running, reading, the ones I talk about in this
space. I give myself a chance, that’s all we can expect.
Soon, the fireflies will be here. They’re going to be late
this year. The nights have been too wet and cold for them. But I’ll be sitting
on my back deck in Brooklyn, with M and Thurber, and we’ll watch in the dimming
light as the fireflies wink and sparkle in that magical way that they do, and
if I were to have a thought about bucket lists and death and what you’d like to
think would be one of your last thoughts on Earth, it would be the glorious
sight of those simple beasts as they dance and flicker in the sweet night air,
that if man is wise and God is good, this moment – this firefly season – will
delight and inspire those who follow in this bejeweled space.
Next: Running for Your Life: Tootsies
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