a brief primer for the hopeless days, pt. III:
âIt all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.â
â Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise
â Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own
âI have a memory which I want to share with you. Itâs about a secret practice of women, men, old people, children. We become aware of this practice obliquely, itâs not something weâre looking for, and very quickly we take it for granted [âŚ] Consider human lives, their every-minute, every-day lives! Their lives depend upon an agreed regularity to which each contributes. Maintaining this regularity is the forgotten practice Iâm talking about.
It explains the arrival of the fruit in the market each day, the lights on the street at night, the letters slipped under the front door, the matches in a match box all pointing in the same direction, music heard on the radio, smiles exchanged between strangers. The regularity has a beat, very distant, often inaudible, and at the same time similar to a heartbeat.
No place for illusions here. The beat doesnât stop solitude, it doesnât cure pain, you canât telephone itâitâs simply a reminder that you belong to a shared story.â
â John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters
â Danusha LemĂŠris, âSmall Kindnessesâ
âNo, somebody always needs to go first. I know this. I go first.â
â Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
âIâve never told you this,â she said. âBut thereâs something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I donât know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. Thereâs a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. Itâs significant.â
âBecause somebody has to take them in.â
âYes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the worldâŚYou move out of your isolation and become universal.â
â Andre Dubus, âOut of the Snowâ, Dancing After Hours
â Ross Gay, The Book of Delights
âIâve never managed to get used to seeing people die. Thatâs all I know. Yet after allâ"
Rieux fell silent and sat down. He felt his mouth dry.
âAfter allâ?â Tarrou prompted softly.
âAfter all,â the doctor repeated, then hesitated again, fixing his eyes on Tarrou, âitâs something that a man of your sort can understand most likely, but, since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightnât it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him and struggle with all our might against death, without raising our eyes toward the heaven where He sits in silence.â
Tarrou nodded.
âYes. But your victories will never be lasting; thatâs all.â
Rieuxâs face darkened.
âYes, I know that. But itâs no reason for giving up the struggle.â
â Albert Camus, The Plague
â Charles Schulz, Peanuts, May 11, 1956
â Philip Larkin, âAn Arundel Tombâ
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