One thing about which I thought as I voyaged through some of the wilderness areas of the West was that today, July 27, marked the first anniversary of what would become a seven month journey through various permutations of bone fracture, surgery, healing, surgery again, to today, as I continue to celebrate, with tremendous gratitude and joy, my unfettered mobility.  It's been quite a ride.

     Did I want to fracture my femur?  Of course not.  Am I happy I did?  Not really.  On the other hand, as I reflect on my lengthy trek through the corridors of the medical profession, I am thankful for the people I met along the way, the wonder of modern medicine (and the enormous privilege of being able to avail myself of it)  and the  that my lifestyle change opened new windows into what it means to be human.

     We are mighty and amazing, yes, but we are also dust, dust that, at any time, can blow away and vanish forever.  We live in such liminality, such narrow margins between here and not.  As I hiked through the mountains, as I took in the plethora of alpine splendor before me, I was reminded, once more, of this stark juxtaposition:  such a glorious world, yet such a gloriously short time in it.
     I'm grateful for transcendence.