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Stumbles And Treasures
I think of the old New Yorker cartoon of the two prisoners chained high above the walls of a prison cell, one saying to the other, “Okay, here’s my plan.”
But it’s not hopeless, not by a long shot. Resistance is not futile. I think it’s only one of the hardest things we’ve ever done, and I’ll take that over futile any day.
My friend, who is usually a crabby optimist like me, is terrorized. He’s worried about Russian nuclear bombs, the permafrost, and life as we now know it under an endless, paranoid misogynistic right-wing conspiracy. He also sometimes talks about life in shelters, and caves. Now, this would not work for me. Shelters would be bad enough — a dinner party is a real stretch for me — but I don’t even remotely have the right personality for cave dwelling. I need privacy and silence most of the time. Also, I hate stalactites. It’s like Damocles goes cave-camping. (Luckily, I am old and will not live long enough to see that.)
God has extremely low standards. Pray, take care of people, be actively grateful for your blessings, give away your money — you’re cool. You’re in. Nice room in heaven, near the dessert table, flossing no longer required — which is what will make it heaven for me. Oh, and Jesus.
— Anne Lamott
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