Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily from a melting snowbank — that unmistakable sound of winter finally loosening its grip.
It felt small, almost insignificant. And yet, somehow, it felt like the beginning of everything.
For two weeks, we practice curiosity over caricature. We cheer for athletes from countries we cannot locate on a map. We grieve with a skater honoring his parents. We admire sacrifice that predates the spotlight.
And because we know their stories, we care.
After living most of my life, or 55 years of it, I have come to recognize myself as a bit of a loser when it comes to games and contests that require luck, and I usually steer clear, especially when money is involved.
But I also consider those who may not be there. Those children who have struggled and continue to do so, who are not a part of the end-of-the year merriment, who did not complete (and may not have started), who did not attend a prom and did not pose in their tux or gown.
This morning, my daughter sent me a Tik Tok of a cool, AirPods-sporting, blond-haired girl with a look of disdain on her face. At the top of the screen, these words are written: School making us believe our worth is determined by a grade. And in the video, the above-mentioned girl, in a deep voice, says, “Now that was a lot of damage.”
The most essential parts of a life - the quiet ones - are often the hardest to name and the easiest to overlook, to underestimate.