"A Herd of Elephants Walks into the Room. . . "

In 1974, while I was busy trying to look cool in my Birkenstocks and denim vests, Philippe Petit was planning his illegal jaunt between New York's twin towers on a wire with the approximate girth of a closed fist.  The 2008 film "Man on Wire" recounts his stunning feat (he spent nearly an hour walking 1,300 feet above traffic).  Petit was 25 at the time.  

I knew nothing of his feat until I'd watched the documentary and, even then, it took me 4 or 5 years after its release to happen upon the film, putting me even further than usual out of the proverbial "in the know" loop.   

While I understand all the hoopla that was focused on Petit at the time, I no longer look at his feat as unrepeatable or even as a particularly impressive act.  

Apparently, that's what happens when you turn 53 and find yourself surrounded by people you love who are teetering far more precariously above the comfort of their own solid ground.   

From dire prognoses to the deaths of dearly loved ones--and everything in between--a lot of people I am nuts about are, I am sure, growing weary of the balancing act of their own current lives.  So you'll forgive me, Phillippe Petit, if I put you and your antics aside and turn my attention elsewhere.

Following the deaths of my dad and brother, I discovered firsthand that there is legitimate comfort to be had in a Hallmark card or a kind word uttered.  That is, perhaps, the best lesson I learned from those losses--the value of acknowledging the elephant in the room, even if it's uncomfortable to do.  And I am leaning heavily on that lesson these days, hoping that my own acknowledgments of others' hardship--acknowledgments that look quite lame from 1,300 feet above traffic--somehow continue to matter.  Otherwise, I'm doomed as a decent friend or family member, impotent, like a spent firecracker on July 5th.

Time and again, it is the act of getting out of bed--that willingness to look things (or people or circumstances) directly in the eyes--that strikes me as the bravest act of all. Surely, then, as the friend, I can reciprocate in my own, small way, hoping that my own eye contact relays the message that I know and I am walking with you.  

...not much of a movie pitch, I suppose.  But, somehow, enough, I hope.