I love this scene so much…well, right up until the scene becomes a run off to get the girl Jerry Maguire cliche. I love it up to that point: it’s the details the little things the simple pleasures that I’ll miss most on my deathbed. Love? Sometimes, often, it’s what makes life not worth living.
What five things would you miss? 10?
I’d miss seeing a rainbow after the rain. The smell of Shambhala Mountain Center: sage and pine and sweat. I’d miss coffee, and brunch. I’d miss feeling like I’m flying when I’m bicycling. I’d miss the soft slobbery smooch that I don’t really want ’cause it’s gross of my doggie. I’d miss climbing, and throwing a ball, and playing with children, and the color of old brick. I’d miss the light blue sky, and crying. I’d miss reading a good story, the smell of the old book. I’d miss caring about things, like Climate Change and electricity and farmers market and the development of my hometown. I’d miss meditating, strangely. I’d miss that coming back from my worry and thoughts to the present moment, that feeling, the smell of gunpowder. I’d miss my mom. I’d miss Spring and tulips in big formal public gardens, and bagpipes, and singing, and The Trident. I’d miss animals, their eyes speaking of other worlds that we can’t quite understand, but that we can connect with. I’d miss working hard. I’d miss not working hard, but eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while watching a movie. I’d miss wearing shorts, and swimming, and summer, and writing. I’d miss traveling, having never done any yet. I’d miss Groucho and baseball, too. I’d miss good, good scotch. I’d miss the chance to be a father, a chance I haven’t had yet. I’d miss autumn, and Vermont, and Filson, and old pickups, and Norman Rockwell, and I’ll always miss my first love, Susannah, and I’d miss taking a bath and reading The New Yorker. I’d miss the feeling of growing a mission-driven business, and I’d miss basketball. I’d miss silence, and space, and slowing down and waking up to this life…I’d miss this life.
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