Memories, Books--and Hopes for 2009

Another year has flown by, taking another year of our lives with it and leaving us with more memories- some precious, some sad, some sweet and some bitter-sweet. Although we age over time, there are aspects of us that defy time. A dear friend, who died a few years ago at the age of 101, often said that as she aged, she grew more and more thankful for her memories. One could see the glow of a 17 year old girl as she described dancing with Arthur Murray, king of the ballroom in the early years of the past century, as if it had happened the night before. I could feel her love for her first husband when she spoke of him and her grief over his death which had happened 20 years before I knew her. We are creatures of accumulated memories, and we are survivors, filled with hope that the future will hold positive changes.
Barack Obama, the soon to be President of the United States has recorded an audio-book, The Audacity of Hope, and today, he probably hopes harder than most of us that the future will hold positive changes. He dares to hope that what bonds us together is stronger than what drives us apart. Love bonds us together. Fear, that feeds violence, drives us apart. In other words, if we focus on developing our compassion for all other human beings, we could overcome our fear of differences, work together to conserve resources and make the necessary sacrifices for our species to survive far into the future.
This week, on New Year’s Day, my husband, Tim, and I climbed a 6,200 ft. mountain on the NC/TN border. There was a biting wind, which felt as if it were trying to remove the skin from our faces, but there were moments in the sun when the wind calmed and the beauty of the surroundings made it all worthwhile. I was struck by how similar this past year resembled the climb. Then quickly had the thought that perhaps every year—or even every day—resembles the climb at some level. Regardless of all the horrendous things we endure, we have no positive option except to put one foot in front of the other—with the hope that there will be moments in the sun. What composes our moments in the sun varies and can change over the span of our lives, and yet, it is hope itself that keeps us going through adversary. We can survive pain—both physical and emotional. We survive losses that rip our hearts to shreds, but as Mark Twain said upon the death of his daughter: It is amazing how much pain the human heart can endure and continue to beat.
We hope for pain to end, but it hangs tenaciously close by--until death. Therefore, we hope to learn whatever we can from the pain, for it is a master teacher. We hope for our loved ones to survive with as little pain as possible. And yet, pain seems to be an aspect of love and life that is inescapable. Above all, we must not allow hope to end. We hope to know deep and abiding love, to feel passion and the kind of joy that comes when we are able to bring joy to another. This deep gratification of sharing joy is what allows sex to be called “making love.” We hope for the kind of immortality that comes when we are remembered by those who loved us during our time on the planet. These thoughts have dominated my mind over the past few weeks as I’ve been re-reading Immortality by Milan Kundera, a Franco-Czech novelist. His novel deeply explores our desire to be immortalized—when we each want to shout to those we will leave behind at our deaths, “forget-me-not,” our final hope.
Perhaps this is why writers write--and why we love. My hope for each of you, and for myself, during this year, is that we can discover the love and compassion that binds us together is the only force that can ultimately perpetuate our survival.
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