Ripples

I tend to think and speak in metaphors. 

Perhaps it’s a way to connect all the disparate random thoughts that fly through my head – to bring some order to them, categorize them, in the same way that spreadsheets and flow charts can make a seemingly impossible project seem manageable.

Friends and family are kindly indulgent.  They listen to me struggle to express a thought, and then smile as I say, “You know, it’s like that scene in Casablanca…,” “it’s like when you let a balloon go…,” “it’s like watching your child grow up…,” “it’s like…”

Well, this morning I was looking at the statistics on this blog.  Not only the US, but the UK, India, France, Indonesia, Austria, Canada, Russia, Singapore, Hungary, Ukraine, Germany, Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. 

I turn to Robert, and say, “You know, it’s like donating blood…”  Possibly your eyebrows, like his, are raising in puzzlement.

But the other day, as I was lying in the bus that comes to our office every eight weeks or so, I wondered again about the idea of something that lives inside my body going out into the world and into another human being’s life, without my even knowing about it.

It’s a very personal exchange, but also a very anonymous one.  I have no idea what the path of those red blood cells, those little pieces of me, will take, and how they will affect others. 

“You know, it’s like writing…”

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