I am in love with words. Few things excite me as much as a well expressed idea. There is a romance to a thought expressed with perfect clarity - precise and enticing. Language and style is the first instance of attraction. An idea might excite me, yet shabbily expressed it would a thorough turn off. I might as well give up on it.

When did I become this creature, caught up in the delight of words? I cannot empathize with people who can read anything. If reading is something I do voluntarily, then a beautiful play of words is a per-requisite. Of necessity, I would wade through articles, piles of writing, trying to understand concepts and ideas.

Today  I stopped by to read a blog written by someone who passed away quite young. She talked about her struggle with cancer and then I knew that the cancer had taken her. It struck some chord deep within me. Not her courage in the face of this adversary, no. It struck a chord in the face of my own cowardice - because being diagnosed with cancer is my deepest fear.

Just thinking about the possibility of it paralyzes me. I don't know what the odds are, but I do know my own fear, one so strong that it could drive me to melacholia bordering on depression.  If not, it brings forth the other me, the one that wants to start doing pious acts in the hope that God will spare me from this particular travail. 

I am moved today by her words. For one moment I considered the possibility of being sick and wondered what it is that I would love to be doing today if I were. It gave me a different perspective. Truth be told a lot of things you thought were important become utterly meaningless from that viewpoint. There are only a few things that hold meaning and ultimately life is all about meaning, is it not?

Frankl had it right -'he has a why to live for will certainly strive to survive almost anyhow. And if we are very lucky, God might grant us the grace to touch other lives and come out of it on the other side, a stronger and truer human being.