Roads and Tunnels

I drove for a couple of hours today and thought about several things, namely music and traffic and television shows. I also thought a bit about what it means to be famous. 

There’s a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye that reflects a thought I’ve had when it comes to being “well-known”:

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,

or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,   

but because it never forgot what it could do.

I mean, what is fame but a heightened sense of purpose? Roads and tunnels are famous to the vehicles and tires that hum along their paths. Fingers are famous to piano keys. And sometimes I wonder if grief is famous to my heart despite its confusing presence—my heart knows it as well as it knows laughter and happiness. 


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