I often heard that sharing was good. I thought sharing meant letting others use my toys and stuff and not hogging them for myself. I pictured myself as the loaner or giver and somebody, usually somebody I liked, as the temporary recipient of what was being shared. But now in older years, I find that I am the one who wants to share. I hear a clever comment or read a good anecdote but it isn't really clever or good until I have shared it.
Of course, I try to limited sharing. For one thing, it takes energy. I have to go and impose myself on a busy wife or friends or the already engaged public. I don't care very much who they are or what they are doing. I am pretty sure the idea, the comment, the book title, the story, the gossip I have is going to wow them, make them pleased to be alive and happy to have been the recipient of my sharing.
Notice that what I share tends to be something to hear or read, not to eat or spend. I am not that generous. I try to be Quaker-ish and silent-ish until I feel pretty sure that what I have to relate or show will indeed enrich the life, or at least, the day of my victim friend. I used to repeat the semi-polite phrase "I may have already told you this", not being brave enough to actually ask them to stop me if they had heard my charming, memorable comment before. I try to speak rapidly so my revelation will be completed before they recognize the story and to my credit, no one has said "This is the 14th time you have weighed me down with this damned story" or any similar comment yet. That day may be coming.
I see now that I owe my wife, my relatives, my friends and the owners of the 42,000 sets of eyes that have viewed these blog pages. Each time she stops and listens to my amazing news, the wonderful Billy Collins poem, the funny joke, she has given me a gift of her attention. So have you if you have read this far. Thanks very much. You have done me valuable favors and you have enriched my life.
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