Ferris Wheel

I ran early this morning in Chicago, and found myself passing the ferris wheel that Grace and I rode with her godmother Q and her son, T, many years ago.  It was a ride that inspired a post that I think about often, and an image that recurred in the introduction of On Being 40(ish)[image error].

I wrote about stepping into the afternoon of life.  I was 37.  I’m now staring at 45, and am far more aware than I was then of life’s fragility, of the speed with which things can change, of how quickly things I love and count on can vanish.  I also wrote about how sacred my friendship with Q was, and it still is, and if anything I’ve even more aware of and grateful for those dear native speakers I hold close.  Those friends have had their cages rattled over the last several years, with scares and losses both, and it’s not over.  Far from it.  But I am aware, and I am breathing, and I am thankful.  I think that’s all I can ask for.

And I wanted to share this photo from this morning and remember those posts I think of a lot.