As a younger, Good Friday always felt like a day to lay low. Maybe the word is solemn. Like something else, other than the self, was more important.
As a an older it’s how I feel today, on Sept 11th.
My thirteen year-old was four on that day. We were driving through the Kentucky countryside today on the way to a cross-country meet. There was some conversation and that was nice. The radio was on, in the distant background to our words. In the middle of the conversation, he abruptly stopped talking and reached to the radio and turned up the volume. And we listened to the 9-11 tribute, in silence.
I’ve been to many places in this country. I have run with a best friend around beautiful downtown Seattle, bombed singletrack in Laguna Beach, CA, pedaled against endless headwinds through cornfields in Indianapolis, walked the beaches in Florida, and visited Bar Harbor on family vacation.
The hustle and bustle of regular life makes it easy to take our country for granted.