News of impending death has me feeling rather melancholy. As I get older I do try to remind myself to be thankful for my friends and family. That's not right--I am thankful, but I try to remind myself to remember more often just what I have to be thankful for. And I do, but time and routine are powerful forces to overcome. This is from Houellebecq as well, and its sadness fits my mood:
It is possible to know someone for years, decades even, learning little by little how to avoid personal questions and anything of real importance, but the hope remains that someday, in different circumstances, one could talk about such things, ask such questions. Though it may be indefinitely postponed, the idea of a more personal, human relationship never fades, quite simply because human relationships do not fit easily into narrow, fixed compartments. Human beings therefore think of relationships as potentially “deep and meaningful”—an idea that can persist for years, until a single brutal act (usually something like death) makes it plain that it’s too late, that the “deep, meaningful” relationship they had cherished will never exist, any more than any of the others had.
I hereby dedicate myself to not succumbing to the trap of indefinite postponement. Help me out when I need it. Or when you do.
