Answer: That you are here — that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?
February was an eventful month. There were three major events that stick out when reminiscing about February: my son’s birth, Facebook Paper’s launch, and the untimely death of an acquaintance from college.
Facebook Paper launched on February 3rd. I rarely use Facebook, but I was excited to install and try out Paper. I’m not a fan of Facebook’s iOS application (or any of their applications to be honest) but the advertising behind the launch of Paper was incredible. Once Paper was live in the App Store, I eagerly downloaded the application.
The install experience was smooth, but I was dismayed to find the voice over tutorial screens. I hate tutorial screens. To me, tutorial or “coach” screens are shortcoming in the user experience design of your application. While I understand Facebook’s desire to include these tutorials (the application is heavily gesture based and I am not sure that gestures lend themselves to be organically discovered), the experience was irritating. The larger issue with their tutorial is that you can leave the application and come back at a later time to a completely different piece of the tutorial. I went for a period of two or three days without using the application and, upon returning to the application, was presented with additional tutorial direction after I, apparently, navigated to a section of the application to which I had not previously navigated. This would not have been upsetting except for the fact that this event occurred while walking around the hospital with my wife and newborn during quiet hours.
Despite my frustrations with the tutorial portion of the application, I think the application is much better than the original Facebook application (although I doubt that it will entice me to use Facebook anymore than I do now). However, one thing struck me on the first launch of the application: On the home screen, where your news feed is allegedly cultivated to show you the most relevant news from your feed, I was presented with interesting updates from an acquaintance that I knew during college. I rarely spoke to him and I certainly did not speak to him on Facebook, so I was curious as to why his updates were above other users' updates. As I read through the updates, I noticed that people were writing on his wall in remembrance: He had passed away. The heartfelt sentiments that his friends were leaving behind were moving.
Even though I did not consider him a friend, I can clearly remember what he looks like. I can remember the students that he frequently sat near and talked with. While I did not talk to him, it was surreal to know that one day he was here and the next he was not and he is now eulogized on his Facebook wall. I could never determine the circumstances of his death, but I stopped reading after coming across a heart-wrenching post from his sister.
A few days later, after an eventful labor, my wife and I welcomed our son into the world. Due to some complications, a Caesarian Section was required. I can still remember holding my wife’s hand in the operating room, my eyes closed, desperately waiting to hear my son’s first cry. At the first note of his cry, I started weeping, which, in-turn, brought my wife to tears. I’ll never forget that moment of pure ecstasy.
In the days after his birth, many of my friends and colleagues have asked me what it’s like to be a father. My answer is not very fulfilling: He eats, poops, sleeps, and cries. I spend most of my time either changing his diaper or trying to rock him to sleep. I am no longer nervous about changing a diaper as I can now do so in my sleep (and I frequently do). Although this time is not what I would consider to be “fun”, there are things that I enjoy. One of which is that I love reading to him at night (so I started a bit early, so what?).
Considering this time, I cannot help but look forward to what comes. It is difficult to stay in the moment and to appreciate the present when the future is so bright. I look forward to hearing his first words, watching his first steps, teaching him how to ice skate, holding his hand on the first day of school; I look forward to all of it. I have to frequently take pause and remind myself that I cannot write his verse. He is the author and is ultimately responsible for his story. I also do not wish to write his verse for him. My goal is to cheer on the sidelines and to give advice based on my personal experiences. He will be his own person and I think he’s going to be great.
In February I was witness to life’s bookends: birth and death. The birth of a person is a joyous occasion filled with the promise of what could be while death is a somber reminder of what will be. I find it to be emotionally difficult to think about this. One thing that brings me comfort is the scene mentioned in the onset of this piece from Dead Poets Society (and I would like to thank Apple’s advertising team for reminding me of how much I enjoy Dead Poets Society): We get to contribute a verse to this play. The beauty of this sentiment is that we are in control of what this verse looks like: We choose which paths we take, the verbs on which we take action, and the nouns with which we interact. We cannot control the length of our verse (although we can certainly help influence it based on how we choose to write it), but we have control in the beauty and the power of it.