When I was a child my father worked for Corning Glass Works. For a couple years, we lived in Corning, New York, where the headquarters and museum are. I never thought glass would be that interesting, but I loved going through the museum for one reason in particular. The glass blowing room.
There was a huge furnace in the middle of the room. You could see into the furnace, and even from the spectator gallery, you could feel the heat on your face. Surrounding the furnace were some of the meanest looking men I’ve ever seen. Hair slicked back, a cigarette hanging out of their mouths, sleeveless t-shirts showing off their tattoos. (This was long before Accounting majors were getting their fraternity letters on their shoulders.) They would set the cigarette down, pull a pole out of the furnace, and with a combination of breath and twists of the pole, suddenly…
… a flower. A freaking flower.
These guys who looked like they would stab you over a warm PBR would create the most beautiful and delicate pieces of art.
I am reminded these days that life is tough and delicate, ugly and beautiful, coarse and smooth, painful and filled with delight. And the possibility of all these occurring in the same sacred moment.
Love your life. Hold it tightly and lightly. Love everyone. Every day.