The Facts and Arguments page of the Globe and Mail is one of my truly guilty pleasures. I don’t know if it’s necessary to feel guilty about revelling in the back page of a daily national newspaper. But I relish it with such gusto, I figure it should make my list along with chocolate, all other things sweet and movies with happy endings.
It’s not the main feature article that attracts me, though. Nor is it Kesterton’s own musings on life and living. It’s that slender column at the right hand of the page, where an ordinary person pens an obituary for someone they knew, liked, loved or respected.
The stories are always unique. It’s obvious that the author has chosen their words carefully, and writes to be as true to the person’s life as they possibly can. But even within this little slice I have a favourite part. The header.
For right at the very top, leading the column, is always a description of what the person was. And for some reason or another, I always find myself smiling at the ways the author chooses to describe the person in question.
The words are specific. The titles are clear. But it’s rare to see “lawyer” or “doctor” or anything else job oriented leading the line. Here is where we learn what legacy the person is really leaving behind. Here is where we read words like mother, sister, wife, and friend. Here is where we uncover a tiny little bit about this individual through the use of terms like adventurer, joker, gardener, and lover. Here is where I take my daily inspiration to go out, and be whatever I would truly and most fervently like to be.
There are those among us who would call me morbid, or find it strange to start the day by reading this obituary first. But they would be wrong. To reflect upon the life of another is to reflect upon the expanse of day that’s stretching out before you. To reflect upon those first few words of this beautiful break between National News and Sports is to set out on a journey – a daily journey – that will help you craft the words that mean the most to you.
I don’t really know what my words would say yet. Wife, sister, daughter, friend would undoubtedly be among them. The rest, though, is still up for grabs. And that’s the part that gets me going in the morning. This ain’t no dress rehearsal, and I want to get out there and make sure that at the end of the day, on the train ride home, I am a little closer to knowing the words that best describe me. And then, the next day, I get up, I read the paper, I smile to myself, and I set out to find a new word for Amanda all over again.
