What a long, crappy winter to cap a long, horrible year. But spring is coming, I think, even though mounds of snow block parking and overnight temperatures still dip below 30°F.

My brother died last summer, my daughter moved 300 miles away in the fall, my other daughter had a cancer scare in the winter, I had Covid in January, my wife is chronically ill. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few things.

The past year was awful in big and small ways for me, and for millions of people around the planet. The weight of it is tangible, crushing, like being buried under an avalanche.

But snow eventually melts, and yields to spring.

The separation of church and state is vital for fair governance, but equally important is the separation of culture and state.

Focus on government’s role: to serve the people and their needs, especially for needs that aren’t met by private industry because there’s no profit in it, like roadways and the delivery of basic needs like water and safe housing, and basic education systems, and healthcare, to name a few.

Government shouldn’t be focused on preserving culture – that’s the job of society at large, and museums, and restaurants, and individuals. Culture comes and goes, and it’s all very personal and emotional, but no one culture is better than another.

But the needs of people of all cultures are common. We all need food and education and safe harbor and healthcare systems and care systems for those who can’t care for themselves. These needs are common, blind to political boundaries.

A government should never say, “My country first!” Instead, it should be asking, “What do my people need?”

And the richest of countries? Assuming they are shouldering their responsibilities? Then they should ask “How can I help other countries?”

Everything has been drained of color, bleached and muddled by this insane year, and finally washed away to an ugly grey by the passing of my brother.

It will be years, I think, before life thrives again, and before it does, all will be grey.

August 7, 2020

My brother, a little older than me, called me barely six weeks ago and told me he was sick. It was early on, and he had just confirmed it himself, and the prognosis wasn’t terrible and that it was treatable.

But the tests were unable to nail down the source of the cancer, and days and weeks slipped through our fingers, and he grew sicker and sicker. More tests revealed nothing but spreading cancer.

On Monday, Aug 3, 2020, he passed away. Watching the progression of the illness, and his decline, was like watching an unstoppable freight train bear down from miles away. At first, you think you can easily get out of the way, but then you begin to realize you’re tied to the tracks and you never even felt the weight of the chains.

Below is the eulogy I wrote for his service.

It’s difficult to sum up the impact of a person’s life, and when that person is someone like my brother Joe, it’s impossible, because he was someone who had tremendous positive impact on those who knew him, yet he himself was the poster boy for low-key, the definition of understated.

A good, kind man, husband, father, brother.. how do you talk about that kind of loss without railing about the injustice of what’s happened?

It’s easy to talk about the unfairness of why we’re here, but we have to fight what’s easy in favor of what’s right, and also I think I don’t have to convince anyone here of the profound unfairness of what’s happened. The world is less kind, now. If you knew Joe, then you know this.

And the right thing to do is say something that honors him. So I’ll just spend a few minutes talking about what a great big brother he was.

I think we are mostly blind to the scope of impact OUR lives have on those around us, and I think sometimes we are blind to the impact others have on us.

But it is the obligation of each of us to thank those who’ve had positive influence over our lives, but before we can thank them, we have to be aware of that positive influence.

And if you’re good at flying under the radar like Joe was, being aware of his positive influence wasn’t easy.

Joe was 9 years my senior, and he was a wonderful big brother, but I didn’t always know that. I think I wasn’t always aware of how good he was to me, and I worry I never thanked him enough.

He was the best 15 year old big brother a 6 year old could ask for for. We would wrestle in the living room and mom would worry and we’d shake the house, but it always seemed to me like a close match. Sure, he always won, but it was close. He never won easily. I didn’t know then how much he was holding back.

He was the best 19 yr old big brother a 10 year old could have. He taught me to play chess, and he taught me to look ahead during the game, and have multiple plans in case one didn’t work out. He always won, but it was always close. It seemed. I didn’t know then how much he was holding back.

He was the best 25 yr old big brother a 16 year old could ask for. I remember skiing with him on his 25th birthday, and I remember our friend Dick saying “you are a quarter century old!” And I remember thinking how we would ski together for the rest of our lives. I never noticed then, and not for years and years later, that he never lost me on the trails. He could easily out-ski me, but somehow – I thought then – I managed to keep up. I didn’t know then that he simply skied a little slower so he wouldn’t lose me.

He was the best 27 yr old big brother an 18 yr old could ask for. He taught me not only to drive, but to drive a stick, and he was ok with me grinding the gears on his own car, and maybe that’s why he sold that car to me for practically nothing. But I didn’t know then that he could have gotten more for it.

I’m fully aware NOW, but didn’t always know, of how much Joe has influenced me, and I’ll forever be grateful for it. I think that’s an important part of Joe’s legacy – he made me aware of how the most low-key people, the most quiet, can effect the most positive influence.

He opened my eyes to something important and gracious, something that was always there, but never really noticed.

I think without us realizing it, he has burdened us with the important task of noticing those we love and those who’ve made a positive difference in our lives, and to thank them loudly and often.

Maybe I speak for many here when I say thank you, Joe.

I loved you, and still do.

Joe’s official obit is here.

Nothing matters but the feelings of those in our wake. Respect, help, cherish all, because no one lasts. If we nurture positive progress in others, we help those who come after make even more progress.

If we aren’t distracted by greed, fear, want, selfishness, then we are free to uncover universal truths of science and existence. That’s the goal – to understand everything.

But we’ll never get close to that goal if we let ourselves be guided by fear and power and greed. Whenever possible, let selflessness rule.

Obviously both goals (understanding everything and letting yourself be ruled by selflessness) might be impossible to achieve, but shouldn’t those be the bars to reach for?

If 2020 was a three-act story, I hope we’re at the end of act II, when all hope seems lost, just before we rise up and win big in act III.

Act I was short, but act II made up for it with impact. The holidays behind us, mid-winter around us, and Australia literally in flames. News junkies might’ve seen some headlines about a virus in China. And then – like getting t-boned at an intersection if you weren’t paying attention – everything stopped. Businesses closed up, suspended, schools shuttered, there were more airplanes parked at airports then cars filling airport lots.

Thousands of people a day dead or dying, economic collapse, unemployment skyrocketing, the whole world in isolation. People with little money prior now have nothing, and those with pre-existing health conditions living in terror. The world, under these conditions, is dry tinder, and suddenly we see that the Australian wildfires foreshadowed what was about to happen.

George Floyd was that spark, and the cops in Minneapolis were happy to strike it. A world already pressurized by a global pandemic is now ignited by the short fuse of deeply rooted and systemic unfair human treatment. It cannot be a coincidence that a disease that attacks the respiratory system, prompting the sick to cry, “I can’t breathe” grips the world, while Mr. Floyd and others cry out the same thing.

As the world stands on the edge of even worse virus outbreaks, or not, and on the edge of civil reform, or not, I hope this is the end of act II and we can begin to nurture hope as the curtain rises on act III.

But each morning, playing catch-up with the news, act II clearly isn’t over yet. If you haven’t yet given up all hope, don’t worry – 2020 isn’t over yet.

My previous post was premature. 2020 just keeps getting worse.

I’ve never seen the world on fire like this, and I was literally walking through Newark, NJ around the time Rodney King was brutally beaten and LA was burning.

Hundreds of thousands dead from a pandemic? A global economy crushed under the same virus-infested boot? Riots in all major cities? Curfews and lockdowns worse than the ones triggered by the virus? What’s next? Locusts? Oh – wait! We have that, too.

This isn’t the 21st century I expected, and it’s rapidly devolving into one I don’t want. is2020over.com will make you cry and start packing, but there’s no place to go. Isn’t it time the world coalesced under one flag? Are we not stronger united? Isn’t it obvious that those who have are obligated to help those who don’t?

As a species, we’ve dug a very, very deep hole for ourselves. The only way out, without completely disintegrating into a Mad Max movie, is through global teamwork. The biggest hurdle, though, might be attention span – everyone wants rapid change, but changing behavior like this requires a geologic timescale. Pleading for patience is only effective when holding up a solid plan for change, and a very long calendar with clear milestones. It’s possible, but it’s a long journey. We didn’t get here overnight. We won’t get out of it quickly, either.

I think I lack the words to quantify this today, but I’m pretty sure – and have felt this for a long time – happiness is deeply rooted in selflessness.

Occasionally, rarely, fleetingly, I can flip a switch and let go of whatever I “want,” whatever I long for. In those moments, I can be selfishly selfless, and long for nothing, and be completely present and of service to those I love.

The difficulty lies in letting go of what you’re good at, letting go of whatever individual talents you may have, unless you’re using your talents or abilities to solely help others – your significant other, your children, your parents, strangers.

And that’s a Venn diagram with very little overlap – one’s personal talents on one side, and talents needed to help others on the other.

This post may need revision. More later.

We’re all playing the long game, but there’s no winning it. Death distracts us with all the shiny promises of life, and we willingly let ourselves be distracted. We voluntarily turn a blind eye and deaf ear to the end we cannot escape.

But why does death even bother toying with us? It doesn’t need to distract us. It will win, whether or not we’re paying attention, whether or not we struggle against it. It always wins. So why play a game?

Because death is a bored child god, and has no equal, and so has no goals.

If life is futile, why live at all? Because we can achieve goals that span lifetimes. That’s how we cheat death – by achieving selfless goals that bridge past, present, and future lives. Feats of science and art and love and selflessness that become beacons for future generations, stamped with our names.

But it’s a small and hollow win – Death let’s us have the group win because we eventually, individually, lose. And there’s no escaping that.