Apparently, stars fall to earth all the time, but this lovely blue marble is so large that we don’t notice. I suspect we’re not looking in the right place. Being distracted is a lame excuse: at the end of eternity are you willing to admit you missed the Northern Lights because you needed to move laundry into the dryer?

What if we were hypersensitive to movement, any movement, in the universe?

Stop, that would be exhausting, and arguably pointless.

But if that universe was limited to our personal life? Let me ask it again:

What if we were hypersensitive to movement in our life?

What? You say you are.

I say bullshit.

Stop. Stand still. Put away your phone. Listen. Breathe. Think. For yourself. Don’t react to something said or done. Think for yourself. Which is called: Wonder.

Open your mind to Wondering. And you will find wonderment.

It is a summer’s day and you’re flat on your back in the softest grass. The clouds above are sarcastic in the slowest performance of a sunlit ballet.

What are you thinking about? Not stressing about, Thinking about. That’s called Wondering. Wonderment. Wondering when. Wondering if. Wondering what if.

Now, what if a star fell to earth? A star you saw. A fall you imagined. But a real one that you didn’t see coming.

So it’s 33 years later, and I can’t say you’ve been lying peacefully on your back admiring the clouds. And I can’t say you’ve been looking for starfall. But lend yourself to wonder (you’re a writer after all).

And you do see the star fall. Can’t miss it. She emailed you on the way down.

And here she is.

As beautiful as she was when she twinkled as a distant memory in a favorite past.

As brilliant as ever, even before you tried to lay claim to polishing her star.

Ah, you feel the heat. The magnetism.

How lucky that she fell. From your memory and into your phone. (How odd. When you first orbited her star, phones hung on walls only, like clocks, art and crucifixes. And now they’re all three.)

Why did she fall, one might wonder. You do. Now. Why now?

Was it because it was time for her to let go of what was keeping her from falling?

Or because the time was right for you to catch her?

But you didn’t catch her. You tossed a blanket across a sea of uncertainty to ensure she would land safe and welcome. Because she, without blame, deserved a soft landing. A smiling welcome.

Why not? You never accused her of a poor decision. In your wisdom of age and constant self-reflection, you learned that, just because she was the One for you, didn’t mean you were the One for her.

You still believe that.

So what then?

Why this star? This moment? These words?


And that’s enough.

Look, face it. You don’t have much time left in this life. Someone can pull the rug out at any time. Why not be / live / wonder all that you can /should be / live / love?

(Do you remember love? Try again. Think harder. Okay, I’ll be patient. But I have proof. I’ve seen the photos. I’ve hung the ornaments.)

I do not know. Anything.

But I know this: Yesterday, I was young and I loved.

Nothing today makes me feel anything less young – on the inside – except the loss of love and the ability to love.

Is that the Fountain of Youth? The quintessential search for immortality. Simply: find love.

And to think that Ponce de Leon thought he’d find it in Florida.

December 18, 2019