The Art of Living
The art of living is to know when to hold fast and when to let go. For life is a paradox： it enjoins us to cling to its many gifts even while it ordains their eventual relinquishment. The rabbis of old put it this way： “A man comes to this world with his fist clenched， but when he dies， his hand is open.”
Surely we ought to hold fast to life， for it is wondrous， and full of a beauty that breaks through every pore of God’s own earth. We know that this is so， but all too often we recognize this truth only in our backward glance when we remember what was and then suddenly realize that it is no more.
We remember a beauty that faded， a love that waned. But we remember with far greater pain that we did not see that beauty when it flowered， that we failed to respond with love when it was tendered.
A recent experience retaught me this truth. I was hospitalized following a severe heart attack and had been in intensive care for several days. It was not a pleasant place.
One morning， I had to have some additional tests. The required machines were located in a building at the opposite end of the hospital， so I had to be wheeled across the courtyard on a journey.
As we emerged from our unit， the sunlight hit me. That’s all there was to my experience， just the light of the sun. And yet how beautiful it was—how warming， how sparkling， how brilliant！ I looked to see whether anyone else relished the sun’s golden glow， but everyone was hurrying to and fro， most with eyes fixed on the ground. Then I remembered how often I， too， had been indifferent to the grandeur of each day， too preoccupied with petty and sometimes even mean concerns to respond from that experience. It’s really as commonplace as the experience itself： life’s gifts are precious —but we are too heedless of them.
Here then is the first pole of life’s paradoxical demands on us： never too busy for the wonder and the awe of life. Be reverent before each dawning day. Embrace each hour. Seize each golden minute.