a quiet life.

friday, june 23rd, 2023.

I stumbled upon a pretty great obituary in The Bitter Southerner this evening. It reminded me of many loved ones who've passed on: grandparents, uncles, and my mom. Like Ray Harrell from the linked article, they've left an imprint on those close to them and nary a trace beyond their families. Still, I can recall their faces and quirks, their voices, their houses with such clarity. Their impression has altered me, whether they meant to or not.

In a way, Mr. Harrell's obituary is both an aspiration and memento mori.

We engineers— we have such a tendency to imagine our work as building something great. We lack perspective as a whole. Perhaps that's part of our personality; a trait necessary to keep building things. After all, if we realize that it's all temporary, why build things at all?

As is often said, nobody wishes they'd worked harder on their deathbed.

But— that is also not a call to nihilism. We are here for each other. To cherish the small things! I feel like that's the whole point of all of this.

And so these memories of my loved ones bring joy and tears to my eyes. My grandma's ceramic pig collection, my grandfather showing us how to eat a clam we just raked up from the mud flats, my old dog Dizzy excitedly tugging at his leash to say 'hello' to the geese at the lake.

As I eulogized at my mom's funeral: 'more words count less.'

I hope that each and every one of us finds the peace and perspective that comes from a life well-lived.

Until next time, be well! :)