Today, I woke up feeling sad. All of my basic needs are met. I have a pantry full of food and a warm, safe place to sleep at night. Put simply, my life is going well by most objective standards. I have (almost) nothing to complain about. So, why am I sad? I don’t think there is a reason. I think there is a wellspring of emotion, and when we wake up our cup is filled with whatever happens to be in the well that day. Sometimes, I wake up angry and irritated. Other times, I wake up quiet and contented. But today I woke up sad. I’ve been sad a lot lately. And I’m not sure there’s much that can be done about it. I could explore the tide pools of sadness. I could tie a rock around my neck and and sink into its dark waters; looking for the source. But I’m scared I’d drown. I’m scared I’d fall in love with the dark anonymity of the sandy bottom, find peace in the fullness of my grief until I forsook the surface world and breathed watery death into my lungs. There’s comfort in sadness. And t
In pre-industrial America, it was common for family heirlooms to be passed down from one generation to another. A woman might wear her mother’s wedding dress to get married or a father might give his prized car to his son as a graduation present. Other times, the heirloom might be less descript; a bookcase that Grandpa built when he was a child or a photo album that a favorite aunt maintained for years. These heirlooms served two purposes. First, they were pragmatic. In pre-industrial America, items like furniture and clothing were hard to come by. A family’s dinner table was either purchased at great expense or it was built through many hours of hard labor. And just getting the fabric for new garments could take months in addition to the many hours spent cutting and stitching the fabric into a dress or pair of pants. Gifting items like these to the next generation saved the recipient both time and money; allowing them to focus their energy on other tasks. In addition, family he