My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Lost in the Counting
The problem with money is that it is measurable, and like anything where the more or less of it is so evident we can extend its significance beyond a reasonable point so that more equals better and having is confused with being. If I have or lack money is not a measure of my goodness, nor is it indicative of success in anything more than acquiring and holding onto money, and if this is so in terms of me it is as true of others. My assessment of who they are ought not get tangled in what they have, the number of their dollars. It is hard not to count and think that in the counting we have done something important.
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