A Kind of Still Life

I call my daughter sunshine because she is a ray of light. She wakes up with a smile, usually singing or saying let's have a party. One can't help but watch her--she is a force of energy, sweet and fierce. And every time I call her sunshine the song "you are my sunshine" fills my head. It is such an eerie song. It makes my heart swell with love and also sadness. There's a certain melancholy about it that reminds me of old photographs. I can't help but feel awe and eeriness when I look at those 100 year old sepia photos--the men and women and children stone-faced as they poured their life into that lens. I love to imagine who they were in the world, to create a story for their life, to figure out the secret behind their eyes. All the details that made up their life--their songs and movements and preferences--now long gone. But still there is this photograph and surely other signs of the tracks they left--memories passed down, floors that have worn their feet, trees planted, dishes chipped. One only has to walk through an antique store to see the artifacts they've left us. But we can only guess at their dreams and thoughts. I've met so many amazing people that remind me how deceiving looks can be. A few months ago I was standing in a line in Chicago and met a young man who, just a few years out of college, quit his job and was getting ready to travel the world by himself for 2 years. And even the people I know well and love continue to surprise me with their decisions--to move, to go back to school, to start a new career or follow a new passion. I think the biggest mistake we can make in our interactions with others is to assume the ordinary. We're all walking around with our own secrets and everyone has the potential to amaze. We are here, so let's BE here until we aren't--let the people who live 100 years from now guess at the marks we've made.

Look at these faces--can you imagine what they will mean to the world?