As a would be constituent of President Bartlett, there are two words that reassure me that life will continue.
"What's next?"
Jed even whispered it from the gurney when he was shot. It meant that he was willing, eager even for another decision. Being
president brought its uncertainties, and yet he was not frozen by that.
This week I drove somewhere new. It was to a train station I have never been to, and my offer to pick people up felt like a small effort to thank my daughters for their independence these past four years in Europe. Not once did I greet them on a platform, in their hundreds of departures and arrivals on trains, trams, planes, and buses. But this time I could ferry weary travelers from one port
of call to the next.
Thankfully, Gypsy told me where to turn, and when to continue. I lived through years of tattered maps, and scribbled directions, and this is much better. Each simple piece of information arrived in a timely manner, not so mush sooner that I worried, nor so late that I screeched. She described the angle of my turn, the name of the road, and the distance until I should take action. What could be better?
John has
opinions about what could be better, and anticipates the arrival of self driving cars. But for today I am grateful.
There are days when I hear subtle words of guidance. Not way ahead of time, nor after the fact, a suggestion arrives in my brain. That was what led me to offer the pickup in the first place.
"Go ahead and offer..."
For my part, I can wake up each morning, even if I have not been
wounded, and ask my Maker.
"What's next?"
