I confess I’m aiming to get a handle on confession Tuesday.

I confess to amusement with a poet’s wife. When her poet husband introduced her to me, she wrinkled her nose, looked off
into the distance, and said, “Deborah….” She wanted me to fill
in my last name. Why would she know me? I am not Mark Strand. I obliged and said my last name. She wrinkled her nose more, looked at me, and gently shook her head. Very odd! Meanwhile, I have no idea of her name. I only have the story.

I confess that I can’t change how people see the world. I can
only change how I see the world.

I confess that life gets better as I get older. I used to care more about unimportant matters. As I age and see people die, I have been able to discern the important matters from the unimportant ones. It helps if you answer these questions:

1. You’ve been told you’ll die in six months. What will you do with your life?

2. The doctor was wrong. You are going to die in two weeks. What do you do?

3. You are going to die tomorrow. What do you do? How do you spend your time?

Thanks to Kelli Agodon and January O’Neill for inspiration.