A beautiful summer day, sitting on a porch in Connecticut, looking at boats
anchored in the cove, grateful that I don't own one. It's one foolishness
I've avoided in my life. Most of the other numbskull boxes I have check'd.
And as I sit here, enjoying the breeze off the water, I
torture myself with memories of dumbness, mistaken romances, real estate stupidity as vivid
as the incident on Wednesday when I was stepping out of a New York subway
car and I paused to make sure it was forty second, and the subway
doors closed on my neck, Yes, on my neck. I had bags
in my hands and I dropped them to try to pry the doors open,
my head poking out, and I couldn't. And then a man pulled them
open, and I got out and turned and said thank you. He was
a construction guy and an orange vest. He looked concerned, and then I
remembered that Penn station is at thirty fourth Street, not forty seconds, so
I had to catch the next train for one stop back. I got on
that train and got off without incident. So I'm a man whose head is
caught in the doors while getting off at the wrong stop. There are worse
things the guillotine, for one. I beat myself up because I'm an old
fundamentalist and self mortification is our specialty, and I've been having too much fun
lately, which confuses me doing shows in Red States to crowds that include a
good many Republicans who voted for the landslide winner in twenty twenty, but nonetheless
were warm and receptive to me who voted for the thief. In Blue states,
audiences are listening to make sure you check the boxes of inclusivity, diversity,
equity, and anti racism. These in Red States are people who don't
mind that many theaters refuse to do our town because the hour does not acknowledge
that Grover's Corners were stolen from indigenous people. I use the possessive pronoun in
singing My country tis of thee, which audiences in Red States enjoy singing with
me and also our national anthem, ignoring the fact that Franciscotki did own slaves.
Back in the sixties when I was in my twenties, we sang we
shall overcome, and clearly we did not overcome, we only created new hairstyles.
So we passed the torch to the young, some of whom feel the
word person shows gender by us and want to change it to her self,
to which I say, good luck with that. Meanwhile, I studied the
pictures from the NASA Telescope, a million miles out in space, pictures of
light emanating from suns billions of light years away, and I made freshly aware
of our insignificance on this tiny, fragile planeting our sun. There may be
planets out there who are studying us and observing our decline and inevitable self destruction,
much as we observe a lightning bug flash and expire on a summer evening.
I'm not discouraged by insignificance. I'm content to be a bug. Insectitude
is no problem at all. I grew up with stories in which God is
seen as a person or three persons, and he speaks to his people directly.
But when I look at light that is billions of years old, coming
from an infinite number of galaxies, it shocks the imagination into gratitude for existence
itself, nothing more, nothing less. It also makes my political registration less
than interesting. I feel this in church on Sunday morning, feel myself disappear,
my opinions, likes, dislikes, and believe myself loved by the Creator.
And in that moment I am joined to others surrounding me, which was
the feeling down South recently when we sang O Lord, My God, when
I an awesome wonder, consider all the worlds thy hands have made, and
we were briefly united, all of us equally. I was on stage,
but still a firefly singing bass. I became an author because books appeared sort
of permanent to me, and now I see it's not true. But the
recognition of brevity makes one grateful for this day, not assuming there will be
another. I felt this when the subway doors bit me, and I imagined
the headline author decapitated on sea train, but it didn't happen. Being bitten
by doors is a chastening experience, but it's also a privilege to discover the
kindness of strangers, a discovery worth the price. We are surrounded by goodness.
The man in the orange vest was brought up to rescue the perishing.
The country is full of those people are counting on that every day of our
lives cheerfulness. It's a simple virtue that can turn the tide in gloomy times.
It's also the title of Garrison Keeler's new book, Funny, thought provoking,
whimsical. It's an uplifting read and a great gift cheerfulness. Check it
out at Garrison keiller dot com.