85 Days
I went out with some folks last night, friends from Teach for America. It came out that there are 85 days left in the school year.
The looks on our faces, and spirit of our hearts seemed to say "Thank God there comes an end."
We laughed and sparred and spoke. And with 85 days left in the first year of a most difficult work, inevitably someone asked if there were any regret of the choice. To a person we answered No.
I used to the think that the absence of regret rendered the presence of joy or contentment or mirth. Not so. The absence of regret is simply that lack of sorrow over an event. That I could have been much happier elsewhere I have no doubt, still that does not beget regret of choice.
For that I have no good explanation.
1.28.2007
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"Once one is caught up into the material world not one person in ten thousand finds the time to form literary taste, to examine the validity of philosophic concepts for himself, or to form what, for lack of a better phrase, I might call the wise and tragic sense of life. By this I mean the thing that lies behind all great careers, from Shakespeare’s to Abraham Lincoln’s, and as far back as there are books to read-- the sense that life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat, and that the redeeming things are not 'happiness and pleasure', but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Sara, Sara, Sara. I never cease to wonder at our inability to really see ourselves sometimes. You have no good explanation? I've known you for well over for years. It would never have occurred to me that you needed one.
You've done a good and courageous thing. Of course you don't regret it. Why would you? If you were the type to regret acting on your beliefs you wouldn't have done so in the first place. That's not you and it never will be. That's for the other ten thousand.
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