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The Sun Magazine

Sy Safransky's Notebook

December 1996

The days blur into one another. The years. I eat too fast. I try to slow down, but something keeps pushing me forward. To the next bite. The next sentence.

August 1996

Oh perfect word, shaped to meaning like a body without an ounce of fat: supple, strong, walking through the centuries like a god.

January 1998

My struggle to be more aware, to live each day fully, is no harder or easier no matter who’s in the White House. I’ll always be alienated from those in power; someone like Bill Clinton will always claim to speak for me. Still, I don’t want to be another discouraged radical wringing my hands. I look around: I see incredible beauty, incredible desolation. I need to remember that reality is bigger than anything I can say about it. When I try to pin a tail on the world, I always miss by a mile.

January 2000

Fear is nearby. God seems impossibly distant. Fear comforts me in a voice that’s so familiar. God’s voice comes to me as the barest whisper. I’m rarely quiet enough to hear it.

July 2015

I woke up late. I suppose I needed the extra sleep, but it’s a bad way to start the day, like waking to the news that your country has done something wrong again (cut taxes for the rich; started another war), and it’s not exactly your fault — after all, you were sleeping — but it makes you ashamed nonetheless.

April 2015

I’m looking at today’s impossibly long to-do list. To accomplish everything on it will take more than twenty-four hours. To not accomplish everything will leave me ill-prepared to leave town tomorrow.

March 2015

After being married to Norma for thirty-one years, I still have such sexy dreams about her. This morning I considered waking Norma to finish what my dream Norma had started.

February 2014

So I can’t say I was surprised when I got pulled over yesterday for doing forty-seven miles an hour in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone. The policeman let me off with a warning, which was more mercy than I deserved. What do I think I’m doing, rushing through these precious, unrepeatable days?