Love, Hate, and Hmm of the Week

Love

I love getting older. No lie. I’ve come to believe it’s the only way you find out what really matters in life. There are short cuts, I suppose, but none you’d really want to live through when you’re still young and blithe, like death and disappointment. Leave those, if you can, for your later years, when you’ve built the wisdom wall to endure them.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what really matters to me lately because I’ve been in go-go-go mode on my book tour, and I’ve been missing my dogs so much it’s getting out of control, and I find myself randomly crying at photos of Pierre. But then, I remember, “Yeah, but this work you’ve done, it matters. Buck up. Keep going.”

Today I was struck by another thing-that-matters which my dotage has taught me, and that is that real people matter. As in, human people – people in the room with you. This is not a platitude. It is more like a warning. Because our relationships can get very virtual these days, if we are not careful. They can become texts and emails and DMs, and never seeing a person in the flesh or hearing their voice. It is so easy. 

It is too easy.

My book tour stop in Chicago, which was fantastic in every way, happened because my friend Steve and I met at Harvard Business School nearly 40 years ago. With time and distance, our relationship could have remained entirely electronic, as that’s how these things usually go. But a few weeks ago, Steve and his wonderful son, Spencer, were in New York for vacation, and we arranged for lunch together at my house. The next thing you know, Steve was making two marvelous Chicago events happen.

That would have never happened if we hadn’t actually been together.

My point is, it’s just so good to be in the same room with people you like. It can be inconvenient and it’s not terribly efficient. I get it. But it’s better.

If you don’t believe me now, I bet you will someday. 🤍

Hate

My hate this week is that I only got to spend 24 hours in-person with the best human being ever created by God.

That would be my granddaughter. 

Whatever, I suppose it was better than zero hours. 

And one other thing. All you new moms and dads out there, for whom parenting is currently a brutal slog – sorry, just being real! – it gets so much better! No, not when your tortuous toddlers become thoughtful adults. But when they do you the biggest return favor ever and produce a little person that looks at you like you’re ice cream and then says, “Tell me a story.”

PUH-LEEZE.

Hmm

And finally, my hmm, well, won’t you be surprised…it involves not Valerie the dachshund, but dachshunds in general.

Because it turns out that the same rescue that provided me with Pierre, Big Dog Ranch Rescue in Loxahatchee, Florida, might just have another batch of dreadful, naughty little wiener dogs coming in from a liberated puppy mill. 

In fact, they may have 12 coming in.

So my question is the following: Is 13 a weird number of dachshunds for a person to have?

I am, of course, asking for a friend.