Opening my mail this morning I find this enticement and think, "I've got to stop torturing myself with these and unsubscribe." In a few days, in a favorite section of the City, there'll be a Meetup of new found Dublin friends, and (being that I'm 3000 miles away) I'm going to miss it. Pang. Pang.
Hey, I know these pangs. They are not so different than those one feels after a lost love. Ohh... this... would be... so... lovely... I want to go, I am drawn to go, I envision the enjoyment I would experience, the sights I would see were I to go, but I can't go. Now there's a recipe for torture, no?
Yes, and no. Because after the pang comes the clear view, the truth behind it, its cause: this is a city I loved, a life I loved. This is a city and a life I shall continue to love. Each invitation rouses that fondness. And I ask myself: what's so bad about that? Surely there are worse things than being filled with love!
Unsubscribe? On second thought, I'd rather not.