Convergence

I have a friend in Germany, who I have never met in person but we have built a strong friendship over the past 8 years over lengthy e-mails. We met when I worked as a business grunt at a type company; he worked as a freelance type designer. Aside for a fervent love of fonts, we had little in common: he is straight, I am gay. He is German, I am American. He is fastidious beyond all belief, I am, well, let's just say, not fastidious. He is a fantastic graphic designer, making some of the most clever and detailed works that I have seen.

Perhaps because of all of the differences, it is the reason why we became good friends: our conversations were not about the mundane tasks but about the deeper things: Life, art, relationships, and the future.

He smokes many packs of cigarettes a day. His packages reek of smoke when opened, like they were packed in a bar.

Over a year ago, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Inoperable. They gave him 6 months. Living 2 years was all that he could hope for.

So he fought. And he put together a book of his life-to-date's work. And he fought. And the book was finished. The palate of his 300 copies is sitting in his office.

And now, the cancer has advanced: spread to brain and vertebrae and completely taken over his lungs. Doctors don't expect there to be much time left.

Which sucks because I have a trip planned to Germany in two measly months. I offered to make a special trip before then, but he is too weak for visitors.

Enter the Trashcan Sinatras e-List's Marie's (from Germany) discs as part of the Disc Tree. One of them from Bright Eyes. And on this album, there is a song on there called "Bowl of Oranges." Some of the lyrics are:

And I came upon a doctor
Who appeared in quite poor health
I said there's nothing that I can do for you
you can't do for yourself
He said oh yes you can, just hold my hand,
I think that that would help

So I sat with him awhile
Then I asked him how he felt
He said I think I'm cured
No, in fact, I'm sure of it
Thank you, stranger
For your therapeutic smile

So that's how I learned the lesson
That everyone's alone
And your eyes must do some raining
If you're ever gonna grow
And when crying don't help
You can't compose yourself

It's best to compose a poem
An honest verse of longing
Or a simple song of hope

[end of lyrics]

There are lots of little convergences everyday. The tiny threads that connect us to people around us are so common and yet so fragile. Every day is an opportunity to build them up or let them decay.

Hurry, to the ones you love.