Living Inside the Gates
Sometimes glass houses we build get shattered by passing images.
“I Grieve for Myself and for the Life I Used to Have” was the caption of a photograph in The New York Times. It accompanied the story of a woman in Gaza who lost her parents in the war and bore a scar on the right side of her face from an explosion. These words spoke of a life shattered beyond recognition.
Amid the chaos and suffering that define much of the world, we find ourselves ensconced in the cocoon of a 55+ community, attempting to insulate ourselves from wars, hunger, poverty, and the harshest cruelties of humanity — all of which persist just beyond the gates of our haven.
Inside, we play pickleball, spending hours practicing or watching YouTube videos to perfect our skills. We invest considerable effort into constructing a world that feels detached not only from external crises but also from the existential realities of our own lives. We strive to shield ourselves from the anguish of mortality and the inevitability of what lies ahead.
Yet, despite our best efforts to sustain this illusion, the occasional wail of an EMS siren shatters the fragile bubble. The flashing lights, the idling engine outside a neighbor’s house just a few doors down, serve as stark reminders of the truths we try to evade.
In the end, no gated community can keep death and aging at bay. When our time draws near, perhaps the greatest blessing would be to leave with a sense of peace, unburdened by the haunting thought: “I grieve for myself and for the life I had” and not be one of millions whose life gets shattered just because of being in the space and time they happen to be.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
