Pride comes with a price. Somehow, if my childhood filled with lectures from all-knowing adults had touched upon the topic of sorrow and it's connection with pride,...I missed it. Oh how I have studied the art of sorrow as of late. Injuries end sports careers for two daughters. One daughter has had to leave a music passion behind due to life just fucking not being filled with enough hours in a day. A wife, who's own passions are teetering on the edge of a time line, is contemplating a slow death for her sister. Although I might enjoy the fictitious slaughter of her sibling, I recognize how sad it is. My son, who just fell short of a dream of becoming an all american swimmer at an event that took a herculean effort just to be invited to, wept in my arms today. I have faced enough
sorrow, thank you.
I wished that somewhere in my travels I had become a bit more prepared for experiencing the sorrow of others. I guess that's what open caskets and dying pets are for, toughening up the skin for the bigger things in life.