Whenever humanly destructive disasters occur, I cannot help but notice the ironies everywhere. For example, I was moved by David Rohde's lead in this morning's New York Times on the Tsunami which spoke grimly of the "waters that stole tens of thousands of people ... on Sunday, spewed their bodies back onto beaches on Tuesday." Rhode, who won a Pultizer for his coverage of Bosnia a few years back was in Sri Lanka. He seems to show up wherever the most human suffering has occurred and he consistently reports the facts unemotionally, in ways that tell the readers of the horrors. Surrounding the main article were companion articles on how the whole world has been effected, and of the grim challenges, of feeding, treating and clothing people, the challenges of identifying and disposing of the bodies, and so on.
I went on yp read the rest of the news. A front page teaser told me of an inside review on a four-star, sushi bar, where the starting price per plate was $350. Then there was an article about the wonderous joys found in champagne costing more than $100 per bottle, and of course a lengthy report of the death of one person--Susan Sontag's who's death will draw as much coverage any of the people discovered dead so far, or the hunfreds of thousands touched by personal loss, or the countless more who will sleep hungry and unsheltered tonight or suffer diseases aftermath diseases.
Earlier today, I was going to climb on top a soap box a write about how petty, it all seems at a time of so much destruction. But after a few hours thought I realized that this is as it should be. I remember shortly after my father's funeral, how my brother and I slipped into a side room, away from the people who had come to his home to console us. We were watching the last quarter of a Celtics-Lakers Championship duel. My father would have been with us as well. I remembered also having had the honor of drinks with John Naisbitt on the night before PopTech less than a month after 9/11. "Everything has changed," I lamented and he looked at me like I was among the dimmer lights on the ceiling. "No, only one thing has changed. Everything else is the same," he said. "The rest of our lives are exactly as they were."
He was right of course, most of us will feel sorrowful pangs and experience reflective moments about this. An already dampened holiday season may feel a bit more sad. Extra prayers will be uttered by those who pray. But overall, our lives will go on. We'll enjoy our families and friends, care greatly if our favorite teams win games on New Year's Day, take in a movie or watch som TV. Life will go on. It always does, and in the largest sense, this is a very good thing.
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