Peak performance

Attended the celebration of life yesterday for Jan Drake, father of Jonathan and Juliet. As with almost all such occasions, it was a wonderful time to sit and listen to people tell great stories about someone they loved. Yesterday was particularly noteworthy -- not just because Jan was a particularly noble guy, and we unquestionably heard stories proving that he was, stories of exceptional devotion and intervention on behalf of people he believed in.

But the most wonderful thing about it all was the length of his professional relationships. Jan had many colleagues in his lab who had worked with him for many decades, people with whom he had watched kids grow up and have kids. That's a very special thing, something few in our generation have.

We do have social networks and phones that can remember thousands of phone numbers, which is nice and helpful. Some small numbers of us are fortunate to be able to live where we grew up and have stayed in contact with friends from very early in life, which is very meaningful. But seeing the same people at the office day in day out for decades, that we don't have.

Jonathan read a letter his dad had written at the age of 56, when he was at "the peak of his career." I did a little quick math and realized that that was dangerously close to my age. So my diseased brain quickly ran to: "Am I at my peak?" Well, I'm not earning the most money I've ever earned, and I honestly don't think I've reached the point where I'm doing this job at the absolute best I can. But fuck it, yesterday was a good day. We had a call with Natalie where she seemed in good spirits (her last call she had been a little down). Graham had a good day at a Quiz Bowl tournament at Duke, went to lunch with friends, and even got himself a ride home. I showed up for my friends, and even had an opportunity to share something with someone there I hadn't seen for a while that surely comforted her.

Admittedly, I did have a little coronavirus freak out at the end of the reception. I was feeling wierd, and wasn't sure if it was my psychosomatic coronavirus or the fact that I had somehow neglected afternoon coffee, and my last addiction was fucking with me. I begged out of the reception, went home and had half a cup of coffee and read my novel. And all was right in the world.