When my first daughter was 3-years old, she became gravely ill. Embedded in my memory is the first time I saw her after her first brain surgery (there were two), her little body motionless in a huge hospital bed, her tiny head wrapped in a helmet of white gauze and tape.
When your child is in a coma, you have a serious problem. It gives you perspective. Compared to that, all my other problems are luxurious ones.
But occasionally some of these puny problems are bound to come up in this blog, because, well, a little tension is what makes things interesting. You wouldn’t want to read The Hobbit if Tolkien had simply written a daily log of Bilbo’s contented, lazy life in the Shire. There has to be something wrong, a problem to resolve. That’s one of the elements of good writing.
For me, this blog is an exercise in expression, a way to connect my words with the world, a world that is, as we’re all quite aware, rife with truly serious problems: global warming, imploding economies, nasty wars, famine, poverty, violence, injustice, human suffering (the list goes on).
Compared to those problems, mine are just, well, little problems. I may choose to write about them, but I won’t take myself too seriously. Please don’t you, either.
(My daughter, by the way, recovered completely and is in perfect health.)
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