Monday August 11, 2014
Without calling it up on YouTube I can still vividly remember that scene from How The Grinch Stole Christmas in which the grinch is unexpectedly caught in the act of ransacking a house. A little who in Whoville discovers the Grinch as he is attempting to shove a Christmas tree up the chimney. Thinking quickly the Grinch manages to concoct a story about taking the entire tree to his home at the North Pole to fix a single lightbulb that is not working. That's a lot of mileage to fix one bulb!
I am asking myself the question: 'Why do the bright lights have to burn out?' I have been thinking this ever since I learned about Robin Williams' death earlier this evening. It can be so sad when people die. It can be especially sad when people die by suicide as is apparently the case with Robin Williams. Williams inspired so many people to laugh throughout the course of many years. I can still remember him in Mork and Mindy from when I was a kid.
Why do the bright lights have to burn out? Why can't happiness, laughter and joy go on indefinitely? I suppose it's because the darkness can teach us as much as the light does. I certainly know this truth from my own life experience. But I still feel sad nonetheless.
Williams' death especially touches my heart because I see something in him that I see in myself. Williams was a comedian. And he was quite a trickster. He could make you laugh despite yourself. We need laughter in this world. There isn't enough of it in my opinion.
Williams' death also hits me hard because I feel a bit like I imagine he might have felt. Goofballs can find it difficult to make friends with kindred spirits. I saw someone on Facebook write that comedians sometimes come from very sad personal circumstances. Humor is something some of us can use as a defense mechanism when life just feels like it is too much to bear. Robin, why did you have to leave us already?
It's an incredibly pleasant night here in Minnesota tonight. One of those summer nights you want to bottle and store away and then open up and imbibe some time in late February when you have grown incredibly weary of winter. The beauty of this summer night makes my sadness all the more sharp.
Sigh.
Without calling it up on YouTube I can still vividly remember that scene from How The Grinch Stole Christmas in which the grinch is unexpectedly caught in the act of ransacking a house. A little who in Whoville discovers the Grinch as he is attempting to shove a Christmas tree up the chimney. Thinking quickly the Grinch manages to concoct a story about taking the entire tree to his home at the North Pole to fix a single lightbulb that is not working. That's a lot of mileage to fix one bulb!
I am asking myself the question: 'Why do the bright lights have to burn out?' I have been thinking this ever since I learned about Robin Williams' death earlier this evening. It can be so sad when people die. It can be especially sad when people die by suicide as is apparently the case with Robin Williams. Williams inspired so many people to laugh throughout the course of many years. I can still remember him in Mork and Mindy from when I was a kid.
Why do the bright lights have to burn out? Why can't happiness, laughter and joy go on indefinitely? I suppose it's because the darkness can teach us as much as the light does. I certainly know this truth from my own life experience. But I still feel sad nonetheless.
Williams' death especially touches my heart because I see something in him that I see in myself. Williams was a comedian. And he was quite a trickster. He could make you laugh despite yourself. We need laughter in this world. There isn't enough of it in my opinion.
Williams' death also hits me hard because I feel a bit like I imagine he might have felt. Goofballs can find it difficult to make friends with kindred spirits. I saw someone on Facebook write that comedians sometimes come from very sad personal circumstances. Humor is something some of us can use as a defense mechanism when life just feels like it is too much to bear. Robin, why did you have to leave us already?
It's an incredibly pleasant night here in Minnesota tonight. One of those summer nights you want to bottle and store away and then open up and imbibe some time in late February when you have grown incredibly weary of winter. The beauty of this summer night makes my sadness all the more sharp.
Sigh.
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